


Devil Man

by geckoholic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_j2_bigbang, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S6 AU (sort of), goes off from canon roundabout halfway into Swan Song:<br/>Michael didn't take Adam as his vessel for the final fight, so after the devil went off wearing Sam, Dean says yes as well. But the fight that followed got interrupted, for reasons neither Sam nor Dean remember. Both angels and demons seemingly packed up and left, and what's left behind is a world that got shaken by a bunch of natural disasters.<br/>Two years later the brothers and Castiel still struggle with the aftermath of the apocalypse and everything that led up to it when Sam starts to behave strangely. But Lucifer is gone . . Or is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil Man

**Author's Note:**

> This one took a village: prettify (without her, this fic wouldn't exist. She's the one who talked me into writing a Big Bang in the first place, encouraged and reassured me that, yes, I can do this, and told me to quit worrying and believe in my own skills as a writer more than once. BB, this fic is for you ♥), dotfic )I will forever owe her for the thorough and insightful last minute beta, for offering advice, for putting up with me coming back for questions about what works about this fic and what doesn't several times and basically for listening to me whining and worrying, uh, a lot. I can't say it enough: THANK YOU), jaimeykay and mad_server (speaking of last minute beta'ing... Both of them worked with me on parts of this fic and gave me great and important pointers to improve it. Many thanks to you as well!), kelzies (my beloved twin and cheerleader. ♥ She was my sounding board and first reader in different stages of completion, and cheered me on to finish like only she can.), samantha_kathy (my first reader via ficfinishing and the only one who knew the full premise before she read it. Her pointers and advice have been invaluable.) & spirited_lizard (she has been exposed to first full draft as an alpha reader, and ridded it of some rather glaring logical mistakes in the first part especially. Thanks, hun!). 
> 
> Attempt-unique made a wonderful set of graphics, see it [HERE](http://attempt-unique.livejournal.com/48262.html). 
> 
> Title is from "Devil Man" by Livingston.

He hears him, clear as a bell, the minute he steps out of the building. The fact that he can hear the words and isn't lying on the floor with his hands over his ears should surprise him, but he's way past caring about details already.

"Dean."

It's the voice of his father, only that it isn't, and it's calm and soothing and yet indifferent. He doesn't care. Not really.

Dean stops, only then realizing that he's been walking, and looks skyward. He wonders if he should feel threatened, afraid, but finds that he doesn't care.

"Michael," he says. If there had been any doubt about why here, why now, the lack of splitting pain filling his head would've washed it away. He's ready to do this, pushed to the limits, down to his last resort. And Michael knows that. "Adam not good enough for you after all?"

"Adam was never what this is about. I told you, it's always been about you. You and Sam."

He feels like he should put up more of a fight. Like he should argue and at least try to resist, to look for another way to end this before he gives in, anything at all. But his mind is stuck on the image of Lucifer's smile on Sam's face, and he doesn't have it in him.

This is his last chance to save his brother, one way or another. Maybe he's still in there, will be free when Lucifer loses the fight; maybe he isn't. But if Sam's gone already, lost to the devil, then what does it matter which price Dean has to pay for trying one last time? It's not like Dean gives a shit about whether or not he comes out of this alive, or what happens to the rest of the world.

Not if Sam's not in it.

"Yes, you son of a bitch. Yes!"

 

***

 

On the day the world almost ended, Dean Winchester comes to on a field, burnt earth beneath him and Sam by his side. He knows it's Sam and not Lucifer without even looking, and when Sam opens his eyes, looks at him and smiles, that's all that matters.

___________________________________________

 

Sam's alive.

He's alive and just an arm's length away, lying on his side and facing Dean, and it's literally the only thing that's important. Whatever happened, Dean can deal with it as long as Sam is still here.

Gaze unfocused as if he just came awake as well and needs to bring the world right-side-up, Sam blinks a few times. Dean sees a surge of panic wash over his face, then his eyes find Dean and he relaxes visibly. He smiles, bright and relieved but still dazed.

Dean reaches out, grabs Sam's hand and squeezes it once to reassure himself that his brother is really there, warm and breathing, before he turns, sits up and starts to check out his surroundings.

The field they're lying on still reeks, a scent that's strangely familiar if you've spent a significant amount of time burning bones in their graves. But whatever happened to leave it in this state, havocked and burnt, was only very regional. There's a treeline close by, the trees intact, and cars pass by on a street not very far away; it's just this one field that's been affected.

The soil underneath them is still hot to the touch, though not enough to burn, and they're fully clothed and considerably clean.

Most importantly, they're both unharmed as far as Dean can tell. His whole body aches, there's a throbbing headache coming on fast and his heart races as if it wants to beat out of his chest, but there aren't any burns or other injuries. The same goes for Sam, from the look of it, no wounds or blood to be seen and he doesn't behave as if he's hurting.

Slowly and ignoring the protest of his stiff limbs - he feels like he hasn't moved in ages - Dean gets up and gestures to Sam to do the same. Despite the fact that Sam hasn't said nor done anything other than stare at Dean the past few minutes, focused on his every move, he complies and they wordlessly leave the field, start walking on the shoulder of the street. It's aimless at first, until they come across a street sign that Dean recognizes from the drive to Detroit. Apparently Lucifer and Michael didn't take them far, just to the next empty space outside of the city, and he spontaneously decides that heading back to Detroit is their best bet.

How they manage that gets a bit blurry - Dean feels like he zones out for minutes at a time - but there's some hitchhiking involved and a whole lot of walking in silence. Not once does Sam ask where they're going, he just follows where Dean leads.

Where that is, though, Dean doesn't realize until they get there: the alley where the Impala's still parked.

For the first time since they left the field, he wonders how much time has passed. Not much, he figures: his baby still looks like it did when he last saw it. He guesses it was around noon when they came to and it's gotten dark again now, but there's no clock or newspaper stand around to check for time and date.

Dean circles the car, his fingertips skimming along the cold metal, and thinks that it doesn't matter how long it really was, it sure feels like an eternity. Like nothing's going to be the same ever again.

He reaches for the driver's door, feels his pockets for the keys and comes up empty, but pushes the door handle anyway.

It's open. And there's someone in the backseat, asleep.

Out of instinct, Dean's hand wanders to the back of his jeans to produce his gun, but of course that's not there either. He crouches down to search for something that's heavy enough to do considerable damage when thrown at someone's head, but Sam briefly touches his shoulder and points to the stock-still body as soon as he gets Dean's attention, motions up and down the length of it.

Dean glares at him, wants to point out that he already saw that there's someone there, but then he gets what Sam means and looks more carefully.

It's not just someone, it's Cas, and he's not asleep. He's just sitting there, his head resting on the bench and staring ahead with a blank expression, as if he's out of ideas on what else he's supposed to do. It's not until Dean taps him on the shoulder that he looks up, and when he does and his eyes catch Dean's he suddenly flinches and whispers Dean's name, his eyes comically wide.

Cas cocks his head to the side in that certain way he has. "It's really you? You're alive? I thought..."

On that, his' voice breaks, and Dean wants to say something, calm him down and reassure him. But now that he actually attempts to, it seems as if his body has forgotten how to speak. He can't form words, so he just reaches out, smoothes out one of the many creases in Cas' trench coat and smiles helplessly instead.

Cas manages to pull himself back together quickly, angelic calm in place again, and not much later Dean hotwires his own car and they're on their way to Bobby's.

 

***

 

For the third time, at least, Dean fiddles with the buttons on the radio but there's still no reception; all he gets is unnerving white noise. They're driving through a storm, a bad one that gives a crescendo of rain and thunder and sends lightning through the sky every few minutes, so he blames it on that.

Cas tries to call ahead to Bobby, let him know that both Dean and Sam are alive and kind of well, but neither of their cell phones are working. Dean blames that on the storm, too. What else could it be?

Silence is something he really can't bear right now, so Dean's grateful when Cas starts telling them how, after Dean disappeared as well and it became clear what had happened, he and Bobby agreed that Cas would wait in the car while Bobby went home in case they'd turn up there. How sure he was they'd both be lost and that the world would end any minute.

There's a pause after that, and Dean can feel Cas's stare as if his gaze has an almost palpable weight. Like he's being poked in the ribs. He still can't recall how talking works, and even if he could, he'd have no idea what to say. Apologize? Defend himself? Beg for forgiveness? He just turns, looks back at Cas and hopes that his expression manages to communicate all of these things, alongside with gratitude and relief that Cas is still around, waited for them and worried.

Sam's fallen asleep in the shotgun seat, snoring softly, and Cas goes on. He tells Dean that at some point there was an outcry going through the host of haven so massive that it still even reached him; he felt it in the remnants of his grace, the bones of his vessel, his mind and its soul. He knew something had happened then, something important, but had no idea what it was.

He averts his eyes, looks down onto his hands folded in his lap, and the _'I didn't want to think about what it might've been'_ isn't being said but Dean can hear it all the same.

There's another long pause, and after a while Cas turns towards him again, silent question - a plea almost - in the way he searches for Dean's gaze.

But as much as Dean wants to answer, tell him what happened, he can't, and not just because of the not-talking-thing.

He doesn't remember.

 

***

 

When they arrive at the salvage yard, Bobby hugs the breath right out of Dean and Sam alike in the middle of his kitchen, and Dean thinks that's kind of a tradition by now: survival and resurrection hugged out somewhere between Bobby's kitchen and his living room.

He smiles at the thought while Bobby paces back and forth between sink and door, mumbles something about these _'damn, stubborn, indestructible Winchester boys'_ and curses the days they were born in colorful words, only stops his tirade to ask Dean what happened.

All Dean can do is stare back at him in silent apology and Bobby's expression turns angry, then worried.

"Neither of them has said a word yet. I believe they can't," Cas answers in Dean's place, and Bobby spins around to face him.

"What's that supposed to mean, _they can't_?"

What follows is a heated debate about why Cas thinks they can't speak, about whether or not that might be permanent, if there's anything they can do, all of it sprinkled with Bobby continuing to swear like a drunken sailor and both of them gesturing widely, but Dean stops paying attention to it when Sam touches his arm.

Dean turns to look at him, and the mixture of panic and relief on his brother's face that matches his own feelings so perfectly makes him reach for Sam's hand, squeeze it so hard that it's got to hurt and then even tighter.

They both wordlessly watch their friends argue, lost in each other and the fact that they're both still there, still alive and breathing and able to be together, until Dean's gaze falls on a sheet of paper on Bobby's desk. He breaks contact with Sam, goes over to pick it up, and walks up to the kitchen table where Cas and Bobby are still yelling at each other.

It takes them both a moment to register his presence, another few to calm down enough to get what he means, but then Bobby scrambles for a pen.

Sam's walked up to them by now, places a hand on the small of Dean's back and leaves it there while Dean writes and then shoves the sheet of paper towards Bobby.

 _'We don't remember what happened'_ is written on it.

Bobby gestures for the pen, then shakes his head, probably remembering that he isn't the one who can't come up with words. "But you did say yes?"

Dean nods, and Bobby presses his hand onto the table until the knuckles turn white. "Tell me what you do remember," he says, and Dean does, writes down how they woke up on the field and got back to Detroit and found Cas in a few sentences.

 

***

 

For the next few days, Dean's out of it more often than not. He doesn't realize exactly how exhausted he was until he lies down on the bed in the room they used to stay in as kids. The only things he surfaces for during the first week are to have Bobby shake him awake and shove something to drink into his face or to occasionally sit up in a panic, then fall asleep again almost immediately as soon as his eyes find Sam's sleeping form in the bed next to his.

 

***

 

When Dean finally comes back to himself, it's to a changed world.

He wakes to a late afternoon sky, Sam's bed empty, and after fighting an initial surge of panic at the sight he slouches downstairs without bothering to dress beyond boxers and t-shirt. On the stairs he already hears the voices of all three of them, Sam, Bobby and Cas, mixed with sounds coming from a radio that gives off more static than actual, audible program.

Downstairs, Bobby and Cas survey him with worry as he steps into the room, but Sam's face lights up and Dean smiles briefly in response.

"You okay, son? Feel better?" Bobby asks, gets up to pour Dean a cup of coffee and places it on the table in front of an empty chair.

Dean just nods at first, but when Bobby continues to stare at him with an eyebrow raised he figures that that won't do. Speaking is still somewhat alien, as if his body has trouble getting used to being fully human - _empty_ \- and wants to resort to another form of communication, but after clearing his throat a few times, Dean manages to croak out an answer. "Yeah, 'm fine." He turns his attention back to Sam. "You?"

Sam's answer isn't anything other than a nod either, but Dean doesn't need more. Sam looks worn down, much like Dean himself presumably still does, and the dark shadows under his eyes tell him that even if Sam slept as much as Dean did it wasn't very refreshing, but his eyes are calm and his posture is casual, relaxed.

He's seen Sam at his worst, and this is far from it.

After realizing that Bobby's still watching him, Dean makes for the chair that was assigned to him by Bobby putting his cup there, sits down and takes a sip, all the while trying to look as normal as he possibly can. Feel normal, too. He closes his eyes, lets the hot coffee wake up all of his senses and savors its bitter taste, before he focuses on Bobby again. "What are we listening to?" He coughs then; his own voice sounds alien to him, too, and it's not just because of the fact that he sounds like Bonnie Tyler.

Bobby and Cas exchange a meaningful look, but neither of them answers until Dean pushes the issue with an eyebrow raise of his own.

It's Cas who talks, while Bobby quickly looks down to the floor - if Dean didn't know better, he'd have said that his eyes were gleaming just the tinniest bit, but it's _Bobby_ so that can't be true. "An emergency broadcast," he says, just that, typically for Cas to not bother to explain anything beyond the pure facts unless he's prompted.

So Dean prompts, by making his expression demanding at first and, when that doesn't work, out loud. "And what's the emergency?"

Another of those looks goes between Cas and Bobby, and Dean isn't quite sure if he's confused or mildly pissed about all that looking back and forth and the unsettling feeling of being kept in the dark for his own good, but he's definitely something.

Bobby tries to pussyfoot around an answer, glances to Sam, back to Dean, sighs and gets up again to put on a fresh pot of coffee, and yeah, upon re-assessing, the scale is tipping towards pissed. But before Dean can say as much Bobby finally starts talking, and soon Dean wishes he hadn't.

"Shortly after the two of you got taken for a joyride by your archangels, a chain reaction of natural disasters started." He points to a stack of newspapers on the table, and Dean picks one up. It's from two days after the fight, and lacks most of the features that you'd expect on a cover page: No pictures, no ads. Just the rare facts. 'Flood in New England' screams one headline, 'Thousands missing in Florida' states another. Floods and earthquakes not only in the US, volcanoes spewing lava and tornados and blizzards all over the planet; Emmerich couldn't have come up with more chaos.

"Not hell on earth - not yet - but may be the preamble to it." Bobby gestures with his mug at Cas. "Or so he says."

And judging from a look out of the window, it's not quite over yet. The storm that was raging when they drove to Bobby's is still going on - or again, Dean didn't really pay much attention to the outside world the past few days. Heavy rain, growling thunder every once in a while; not a thunderstorm at the moment, but it had been not long ago. There aren't any trees in the salvage yard, but Dean's eyes fix on a tarp - loosely draped to an old, dark-green station wagon - that's fluttering roughly every which way, a plaything for the high wind.

The world didn't end, but it didn't come away unscarred either. Apocalypse light, so to speak.

 

___________________________________________

 

For a little while people kept hoping things would go back to normal. Bad weather, nothing that can't be dealt with, right? Many died, but those who survived clung to the hope that it'll all wash over.

It got worse instead. The global infrastructure had taken some hits it wouldn't recover from anytime soon, holding up the most crucial industry proved to be difficult, import and export farther than the own continent isn't possible anymore. Hell, even spreading goods within state lines is a task that overexerts the abilities of those in charge more often than not. Cell phone reception, internet and television are mostly gone, radios and phones work periodically depending on the power supply.

Almost everything that can't be grown in the own backyard is rationed. There are some stray shops offering homemade food here and there, but in general, both the retail sector and the catering trade died a slow death. You want something, you put in an official request or organize it illegally. Soon, a blooming black market for clothes and the like developed, but many things are becoming rare - simply because they aren't produced anymore - and the situation is predicted to become much worse still.

A lot of people lost their homes, especially in the coastal regions or those destroyed by earthquakes or tornados. The authorities tried to find shelter for them within the cities up-country, but when that didn't work out survivor camps were set up.

Predictably, the crime rate rocketed upwards. It's worse in the cities, rural regions are a little better off, but law enforcements are too swamped to do much good about anything less than robbery or homicide. Feeling save is becoming a luxury for those who can still afford to turn their home into a fortress or ended up in one of the better protected camps. About the latter, you didn't get much of a choice in the first few months: if you didn't have any other place to go, you either took a place in the nearest camp or you had to see how to get to the next one on you own.

 

***

 

At first, Dean, Sam and Cas stayed with Bobby. Familiar and the closest thing to home they have, the place was soothing for both Dean and Sam. Made re-adjusting to being human and the only presence inside of your head a lot easier.

In the beginning, Dean was torn between being glad that they both got off as easy as they did - nothing more serious than the strangeness of feeling alien in your own body as a reminder of getting ridden by an archangel - and being fucking furious about that same estranged feeling. Just a couple of hours, but it changed both of them irreversibly. Some days, his skin felt as if it was too tight and too loose all at once. Sensations he once enjoyed, craved, never became quite the same again, his sense memory all screwed to hell.

He never touched a hard drink again, can't bear feeling the gradual loss of control over his own mind anymore.

If asked, he couldn't put a finger to it, describe it with words, but Dean doesn't feel like the same man he used to be. Not quite.

And Sam's different than before as well. In Dean's opinion, he got the short end of the stick with the whole angelic-possession-business. He refuses to talk about it in anything else than a clean, matter-of-fact way, but Dean just knows; if there's anything Dean's fluent in, then it's reading Sam. He's calmer, even more withdrawn into himself than before Stanford or after Jess, sometimes short-tempered and on edge, and he's the one with the nightmares now.

Dean's own nightmares are gone. Michael scrubbed him clean, as it seems, ridded him of every last hint of hell before he inhabited him. He dreams of it - _of him_ \- sometimes. Not memories, exactly, more an impression of Michael himself. Some things he must've left behind in Dean's mind, because Dean couldn't possibly know them otherwise: heaven, ancient times. Angels he never met.

He's pretty sure it's the same for Sam and that's the reason for the nightmares, seeing as his set of impressions and memories came from the devil.

It hurt, seeing Sam retreat into himself. The first month after the fight, Sam spent a lot of his time sitting in Bobby's living room, his knees drawn up to his body and making himself so small that Dean couldn't help but seeing the kid, not the man, and staring out of the window. For hours on end, he sat like that, not reacting to anything else than Dean calling his name, and even then it sometimes took him until the second or third repetition to register he was being talked to.

The first time Sam spoke of his own accord again, not to answer a question, Dean almost cried out of relief.

But no matter how much they love the guy and how much he loves them, the times in which Bobby was able to tolerate another human in his comfort zone for more than a few weeks at a time are long gone. It's not like he threw them out, but all the other times they stayed with him it was temporary, they up and left to hunt again eventually, and after a few months, Bobby got a little unnerved. He's too used to being alone, Dean guesses, and sharing everyday life isn't quite the same as fighting a war together.

It's been the usual routine then, only with added Cas. Motels at first, as long as society was still functioning well enough for a motel in every town, then more squatting and sleeping in the car (which is freaking damn uncomfortable if you try to fit three grown men into the Impala, thank you very much). And finally, they set up tent - quite literally - within a small camp for survivors in South Dakota, not far from Sioux Falls.

They've lived there for more than 18 months now. Figures: The one thing that makes the Winchesters settle down is an apocalypse.

 

***

 

The expression on Sam's face is almost orgasmic. His head tilts back a little as he swallows, his eyes are closed, and he licks his lips slowly. He even goddamn sighs in pleasure.

Dean can't help but chuckling at the sight.

And while he's utterly glad that this is mostly his Sam again, the brother he knew from before, he can't keep himself from picking on him either. "For all you used to bitch about junk food, you seem to enjoy it quite a bit these days."

"This isn't junk food." Sam pouts, apparently genuinely offended on behalf of the Hershey's chocolate bar he's holding. "This was made in heaven." A new arrival at the camp brought a box of it with him yesterday, and Sam's stretching his share as thin as he possibly can. Usually Dean's the sweet tooth in the family, but chocolate? Totally Sam's Achilles heel.

"I don't believe chocolate is a divine invention," Cas says, face serious, but he cracks a smile right after and laughs, the brothers both joining in.

He's come a long way from the awkward, newly-almost-human he was in the beginning.

Cas used to be angry at first, frustrated with the loss of his angelic powers and reduction to a mere mortal. He refused food until Dean and Bobby all but cornered him and gave him a stern talking to, escaped into the yard every few days to scream his frustration at the heavens, regardless of the fact that it was even less likely that anyone would be listening as it had been before. The first time he got himself hurt - fell off a chair while trying to change a light bulb, of all things, and sprained his ankle - he trashed his room and broke his toe as well in the process.

But with time, he acquiesced, accepted his new life and state of being and made himself comfortable in it. Dean offered more than once to help him go off on his own - not that he wanted Cas to leave, but he didn't want to feel like tying him down either - but Cas made it clear that there's no way he'd ever leave their side.

In fact, he shouted it at Dean's face.

Nowadays there's not much left that would give Cas' past, his origin, away. He's blending in, his behaviour a bit off sometimes, sure, but to anyone who's not in the know he might just appear to be a little eccentric. But people like him, they can probably sense that he cares: Cas developed a remarkable instinct for human emotions Dean never thought he'd be capable of and he never hesitates to offer comfort if someone's in need. He's a damn good listener, too.

And he's got a dry humor that always makes something in Dean's gut twinge, memories of a truly fallen angel tugging at him; Dean makes damn sure that Cas doesn't get in contact with any kind of drugs, even tries to keep him away from alcohol.

Dean watches his brother and his angel bicker, both shooting him looks that telegraph something like 'Shut that idiot up, would you?' but neither of them meaning it, and it's moments like this that Dean can forget the situation they're in - the world as a whole is in, actually - and everything that led up to it. Life's harder now, more fighting and less comfort, but to him it doesn't feel all that different. He's had to fight all his life, for everything and everyone that ever meant something to him, and comfort has never been something he got much of.

He's not supposed to feel good, by any sane person's standard. He knows that. The world might've gotten away with a black eye compared to what heaven and hell had planned, but it's still messed up.

But, there's Sam and Bobby and Cas, all of them with him or nearby and comparatively safe. No one's after them in particular: there are no archangels trying to bend them over, or demons wanting their souls, no impending apocalypses or deals or curses, and it's... somehow, it's easier than before, for Dean.

They're still hunting, if a case presents itself. Heaven and hell appear to be on a prolonged vacation, but there are enough critters and spirits and creatures around to keep them busy. And Dean's glad about that, too. It's the one thing he's good at, and he doubts that he'd be able to do anything else. Or fit in anywhere else, for that matter, especially not after everything that happened during the last six or seven years.

Neither Dean nor Sam remember much of what happened on that field two years ago. Both their memories blacked out the second their respective archangel took hold and ever since then, heaven is silent. Hell, too, if the fact that they didn't run into a single demon all this time is anything to go by.

The fight got interrupted, that much they know. But to this day, they haven't managed to puzzle out how or why.

 

***

 

If you ignore its cause and purpose, the camp is a kind of a nice place to live. It's the extension of an old countryside hotel, one of those miniature adventure parks with several separate cabins to rent, set between a row of mountains on either side. There's a river running through it that provides water for drinking and bathing. For lavatories there are outhouses. Along the river are the tents in groups of five to ten at once, to the back a few fields with vegetables and other crop plants and a small orchard with several fruit trees.

As far as places-to-find-yourself-in-after-the-end-of- the-world go, Dean thinks, it's a nice enough one to end up in.

Most people only stay in the camp for a few weeks, at most. The few hunters that show up usually move on after they've killed whatever they came to the area to kill, and survivors just come here to catch their breath, then go and try to find themselves a new home. It's still busy, people keep coming and going, but there are very few who end up here.

And those few stick close together. Every Sunday evening, no matter what else is going on, Mindy calls them for something she stubbornly calls 'staff meeting' even though no one actually works for the camp. It's not required, the government is supposed to cover the costs as well as the provision with basic supplies, but if you rely solely on that, you're likely going to starve within weeks.

Mindy is the camp leader's assistant, helps out in the kitchen or the depot, and she's exactly what you'd think of when you hear the name: a petite blonde in her early twenties, not one to turn heads but beautiful in a unpretentious way. She studied business management before everything went to shit, an area of expertise that no one's going to need again for a long while to come. When Dean, Sam and Cas arrived, she'd still been a chirpy little doll in short skirts and with fancy hairdos, but camp life made her calmer, more pensive.

Calmer, but not much quieter. Her voice still carries, and the three of them hear her long before they see her. "Damn it, where did I put the forms for kid's underwear," and just when they round the corner, "Darren, honey, did we leave the notification about the new set of food stamps in our tent?"

Darren is her boyfriend, scrawny, brown eyes and dark brown hair he cuts himself despite the fact that he hasn't got any talent for it, always sporting a small beard that looks just as wild as his hair.

He throws Dean an exaggerated mock-eye roll before putting on a bright smile aimed towards Mindy and answering, "I think so, babe. I'll get it." He isn't really annoyed; he adores Mindy. In the camp he follows her around like a shadow, clings to her, and hardly ever talks to any of the temporary residents. If he does, he's about as socially awkward as Cas used to be; Darren hasn't had a drink in his life and keeps proclaiming that the apocalypse was the best thing to ever happen to the environment, all of which doesn't exactly add to his people skills. But he's sharp and smart and loyal, a good friend and a reliable hunting partner and Dean and Sam's first choice for backup other than Cas.

He jogs past them to get the notification, constantly re-adjusting his oversized natural-fibre pants in the process. If you ask Dean, he'd call Darren the most unlikely person to ever become a hunter: peacenik, animal rights activist and vegan, the kind of person who rescues spiders from the tub before stepping into the shower (really, the camp has a one public shower room, Dean saw him _do that_ ). But his love for everything that crawls obviously stops when it comes to monsters and creatures.

Darren and Mindy fell in love with each other here in the camp; they wouldn't even have met in the world that was, but as it is, they're clearly happy.

One more reason why Dean thinks that, maybe, this whole mess isn't so bad after all.

Sam and Dean sit down on the long dinner table, Cas goes up to Mindy for a chat. They have virtually nothing in common but seem to like each other anyway, and Dean long since stopped wondering how his stiff, otherworldly angel turned into somebody who shoots the shit with a former cheerleader.

As always, the last one to make an appearance is the camp leader, Adele. She doesn't talk much to anyone, a grumpy old woman in her seventies who keeps who or what she was before a secret. Even before Dean, Sam and Cas got here she took over the responsibility to care of food and supplies, which involves organizing barter deals with anyone who's still willing to trade - money doesn't mean much anymore these days - and tours to raid any abandoned malls and shops nearby in order to stretch the official rations enough to get by. She makes sure that everyone's fed and warm, despite rationalized power supply and whichever other shortages might occur, and she's one of the reasons why Dean wanted to stay here.

Part of him is still afraid of the version of himself he met when Zach sent him into the future, and having someone else take charge of the place they live in is another thing that distinguishes him from his potential future self. He's not going to lead anyone anywhere, if there's a way around it.

All throughout the meeting, Mindy does the talking. Darren beams at her proudly the whole time, Adele cuts in to bark an order or a reprieve every now and then and Sam, Dean and Cas give their best not to look bored. The semi-official part of the evening lasts about half an hour, but eventually someone gets out a deck of cards and that's that.

 

***

 

Most of the time, Sam's fine. Normal. A calmer, more subdued version of Dean's brother, but still unmistakable Sam. But there are days when it seems as if it's all becoming too much for him, nightmares and lack of sleep and living in a camp in a post-apocalyptic world; it's hanging in the air from the moment Sam wakes.

When Dean tumbles up, Sam's already rummaging around in the tent. No good morning, Dean gets a heap of dirty socks thrown into his face by way of a greeting.

"Wow. Good mornin', sunshine."

Sam doesn't answer, just glares Dean's way and huffs, and Dean decides it's better to flee the tent until the air cleared. He gathers the socks into a basket that's already filled with more dirty underwear and makes for the river to wash them, contemplating to ask Mindy for something to do in the kitchen or the fields afterwards.

All Sam needs to snap out of those moods is letting off steam or catching up on a few hours of sleep he missed the previous nights. He exerts himself with cleaning or running or exercises, and by noon or afternoon at the latest, he's usually better.

This time, Sam comes up to the small strawberry field Dean's busy clearing of weeds sometime in the afternoon. He wasn't present for lunch so Dean assumes he managed to fall asleep for a bit, and there's no explanation or apology needed.

Sam just kneels down next to him and joins him in his work.

 

***

 

Sometimes Dean really misses diners. It's not like he's used to nouvelle cuisine, but they swap around with cooking duties for the permanent residues, and when it's Cas turn? Well, let's just say, it's not one of his strong suites.

And of course, Dean points that out to him. Every time.

"Cas, no offense, but this? Never tried to eat horseshit, but I bet the taste of this is close." He makes a disgusted face, even sticks his tongue out a little for good measure, and beside him Sam dutifully rolls his eyes.

Since it's routine, Dean complaining like that, Cas doesn't even bother to answer. He just shoots him an annoyed look, shrugs and moves to take Dean's plate back.

Dean makes a grab for it at the last possible moment. "Hey, wait. It might just be edible with enough hot sauce." He bats Cas' hand away from the plate and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for keeping a stack of almost-out-dated barbecue sauces in their tent. "I'm hungry enough to take my chances."

Cas looks at him blankly. "Because you've always been so very picky with food, haven't you?"

"The two you bickering again, are you never getting tired of that?" Darren steps up behind Dean, puts a hand on both his shoulder and Sam's, chuckling, and winks at Cas. He pushes at Dean a little until Dean moves to make room on the bench so Darren can sit down between him and Sam. "I think I found us a job."

Once, that would've been Sam's line. His task, his role in hunting. But he doesn't bother to actually look for hunts anymore. If they find one, he tags along, but he's not actively participating in seeking them out. Dean's not too worried about that, he can relate to a degree. After everything they've been through, the job lost some of the glory it once had for him as well, but he still likes doing it. Some things just don't change, and he's not the kind of person who'd ever pass up when there are lives on the line and he could do something to help save them. In the eyes of some people, that might appear to be noble, heroic, but for Dean it's just the way he's been raised. If you're a Winchester, you don't look the other way.

The same, he thinks, goes for Sam. They've talked about giving up on hunting, or Dean doing it on his own, but Sam won't have any of that. As long as Dean wants to hunt, Sam will join him and they'll do it together.

"So?" Dean asks, and in lieu of an answer Darren shoves a couple of notes his way. His handwriting is horrible, tiny and scrawly, but Dean's used to deciphering it by now. He skims them, and it sounds like a run-of-the-mill job, not much info on what exactly is going on. If it even is a job: three bodies were found in a town roundabout an hour from the camp with slit throats, and that might as easily be the human kind of violence.

"What exactly has us convinced that these aren't victims of a robber or serial killer or something else that's not our kind of problem?" Dean could continue reading, but he's too lazy. He hands the notes back to Darren and shoves a few bites of whatever it is that Cas dares to call food into his mouth while he's waiting for an answer.

Darren grins. "The fact that all three of them showed up in other towns in the district after they were supposed to be six feet under sounds like a hint to me."

 

***

 

They're on their way early the next morning. Online research sort of falls flat since the internet is no more, and you can only get so much information from rumors and the few phone calls that can be made during the times when power's up. So if you want to work a job, you have to do it on-site and rely on the knowledge you already have or can gather the old-fashioned way: books. A stack of which now almost permanently rests in the Impala's back seat. It's not a problem, since they barely take jobs that are more than a few hours away and there's no need to sleep in the car anymore. Gas is rare, after all; it's rationed now, the authorities decide who gets how much. And if you're low and want to go somewhere before the next fill of the tanks at the camp is due? You're shit out of luck.

But even limited to the area, there's no shortage of jobs. Angels and demons have been wiped off the map, but an apocalyptic landscape appears to be creature paradise.

Boston's "Don't Look Back" runs out, and instead of turning the tape again Dean decides it's conversation time.

"Hey, Sam, any ideas on what we might be up against this time?" Dean's got a pretty concrete theory, but the current hunt is a safe topic and a sure-fire way to get at least some words out of his brother if he's in a bad mood.

And leaving the safety of the camp never really agrees with Sam.

If anyone had told Dean he'd become the Chatty Kathy between the two of them in the future, he'd have laughed into their face. But well, things have changed.

"Kinda screams shifter, slitting throats and leaving the bodies behind isn't typical creature MO. A damn stupid one, too, if you ask me. Parading around with the faces of your recent victims in the same area, seriously?" Sam huffs a little, that's how appalled he is by the stupidity of the thing.

Dean nods. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Should be a quick one, maybe we can be home by tomorrow mornin'. Pull an all-nighter and sleep in our own beds when we're back at the camp." While saying that, he looks over to Sam, taking in his slightly bloodshot eyes and the dark shadows under his eyes. Sometimes he thinks they never went away after that fateful day in May two years ago.

For so many years, Dean was the one who needed Sam close, never really minded sharing hotel rooms because the opportunity to just quickly open his eyes and see Sam sleep just a few inches away from him calmed him down. Now it's Sam who needs it more than he does. They each had their own tents at first, but Sam ended up coming over almost every night anyway and they got themselves a bigger one to share.

Dean's presence in the room sometimes keeps the nightmares away, Sam says.

Plus, now, Sam's all about routine. It's not like he loses his bearings when things are different and he doesn't freak if he has to sleep somewhere else on a job, but Dean can tell that it upsets him. He's even more restless than usual, barely manages to fall asleep at all, if it's several days he gets a little erratic. And the noises he makes if he does sleep leave little to the imagination about what kind of dreams he's having, ragged breathing and soft whimpers; Dean's usually spending the majority of the night awake or only half-asleep, listening out for screams and wanting to be able to soothe Sam instantly if he wakes. It's another reason why they don't take jobs that involve longer trips anymore.

Way too depressing thoughts for an early morning on the road, Dean thinks, and gestures to Sam to make him open the glove box. Sam understands and obliges, shows him the labelling on some of the tapes, and Dean picks a classic.

As soon as Zeppelin lulls the car in the opposite of silence, Dean stretches out and rests a hand on Sam's thigh as if by accident. They don't outright talk about it and Sam would never ask him to do that, but they've found out that some direct contact makes it easier for Sam to relax.

And sure enough, the next time Dean checks Sam's asleep with his face smushed against the window, his breath leaving foggy little clouds on the glass.

 

***

 

Cas isn't a fan of long car rides, and his face clearly communicates as much when he gets out of Darren's old truck. He's usually driving with him when they hunt, what with the Impala being stuffed with books, and even though the truck leaves him more room to stretch out than the close muscle car he still behaves as if he's been stuffed into a box the whole time afterwards, stretches his limbs out in every possible direction and moans as if he's in pain, ranting and raving.

He's still mumbling profanities at the car and life in general when he and Darren walk over to the Impala.

Dean and Sam arrived at the meeting point first, and Sam used the time spent waiting for the other two to spread out a map of the area on the hood of the car and apply small magnet pins in different colors to the spots where the bodies have been found and where the assumed shifter showed up wearing one of their faces. (Once a geek, always a geek. Dean, however, did the smart thing and took a nap.)

All four of them rally around the hood trying to find any kind of pattern, maybe figure out something all these places have in common. It looks random, they don't know this specific area, and it soon becomes obvious that they won't get anywhere without some footwork. They set a time to meet here again, then Cas and Darren head off to check out the crime scenes and try to get some info from the local authorities, and Sam and Dean go to check out the places of the sightings.

 

***

 

There's no rhyme or reason to where the assumed shapeshifter took his new faces for a walk. They take their time investigating, Sam getting his geek on and taking a detour to break into what used to be the local town library, but there's just nothing interesting about them. It's an open field a few miles off town, and two abandoned houses within the town limits. The latter are scattered with litter and altogether look like someone squatted in them, but whoever it was left; there's nothing going on, and no one around.

After the library they talked to all the witnesses, but here they are, after interviewing the third, and as far as hints go they've come up with exactly jack squat. Everyone was nice and forthcoming and they got fed tea and homemade cookies by the mom in the first one, but useful information? Nada. There aren't any personal ties to between the witnesses either, they're living in boring-ass, cozy small-town-neighbourhoods scattered all over town.

Dean's sure there hadn't been anything worth writing home about these places even before the apocalypse came and turned them even more boring.

The only thing they managed to find out is that all of the witnesses who saw the victims walking around after their official deaths knew them from school - two of the witnesses are high school kids, the third is a teacher - but that's not exactly narrowing it down much. It's a rural area, many farms and families with several kids, and neither the victims nor the witnesses did them the favor of being in the same grade, let alone the same class. Basically, it's all been cases of seen-around-in-the-hallways, not two of them knowing each other well.

Back in the car, Dean groans, lets himself fall into the driver's seat slowly and starts the engine to turn on the AC. It's a sunny spring day, not cold anymore but not pressing hot yet either, but it's early afternoon and the car had plenty of time to heat up in the sun. Almost half of the day is still ahead of them, but they have no idea on useful ways to spend it; the victims are all buried already, and it's part of Cas and Darren's job to talk the authorities into handing them the files this time.

Speaking of, though, it's almost time to get going to meet up with them and compare information, and Dean's hoping strongly that they came up with something of substance. Because, if not, they'll have to stay longer, get a motel room for at least a night or two, and one look into Sam's eyes tells Dean that he's not looking forward to that.

 

***

 

The only good news Cas and Darren can contribute is the confirmation that it's indeed a shapeshifter: on two of the crime scenes, they found the goo matching that theory.

Not that it brings them any closer to finding out who left it behind.

"Everything about the vics and the witnesses points towards a school kid, or someone who's got something to do with the school," Darren summarizes.

"So what, we have only about 1000 suspects instead of 6000? Awesome." Dean rolls his eyes at him and earns himself a glare from Cas.

"It's a start, Dean," Cas says and looks at him, then at Sam sympathetically. "Look, I hate to suggest it, but it might be a good idea to have a look around tomorrow morning, see if we notice something weird about any of the kids or the staff."

Dean's in no mood to be reasonable. "And how are we supposed to identify the shifter? Even if it found it's vics at school, I doubt it's dumb enough to appear on the school premises wearing one of their faces. I mean, it already proved that it's not exactly Einstein, but that's like waving a red flag. Do I have to point out that no electricity means no flickers in any cameras either? Plus, hanging around there without any real reason is makin' _us_ look suspicious, and I don't particularly feel like gettin' busted because people think we're child molesters on a stakeout."

The long-suffering sigh that Cas lets out as a response is definitely something he learnt from Sam. "All right, any other ideas then?"

"We could -" Dean starts, but breaks off. "No. Not off the top of my head."

Sam's been skimming through the copy of the police file while the others talked, but now he looks up from it. The look on his face is one Dean knows well: Thinky mode, gears turning. "It's not like the kids didn't come home from school, all of the victims were out late after a party or meet-ups with friends or the like, and didn't make it home after that. Maybe it's got nothin' to do with the school at all."

"Good point," Darren says. "Maybe we should go back to the crime scenes tonight. See if something's going on there after nightfall."

Sam nods. "Yeah, that's what I was gonna say. Let's get ourselves a room for the night somewhere."

Dean can't quite believe that Sam's suggesting that himself. "Sammy..."

"It's a shifter killing teenagers, Dean," Sam says, looking at him with the expression he gets when he really, really wants you to get his point and reconsider your own. "We gotta take care of this, and we gotta do it fast."

 

***

 

In the rented room, Dean watches Sam while he unpacks the bare necessities, his toiletries bag and some fresh clothes, and starts to peel himself out of his layers to take a shower.

Probably not a bad idea after a full day spent in the car, Dean thinks and sniffs himself. Yeah. A really good idea, actually, if they don't want to scare away any new witnesses they might come across later from half a mile away.

Sam chuckles a little at the sight. "Sometimes I wonder who let you loose on society." He picks up the bag and the clothes and turns from where his duffle lies atop of his bed, but then hesitates to look at Dean. "Wanna go first?"

"No, it's okay, you go." Dean waves a hand. "Just make it quick." Through some miracle - or good logistics - most places they've stayed in since electricity became a rationed luxury still manage to have at least some amount of hot water. But there's no room for long singing arias or the occasional wank-off under the spray if you want to stretch it enough for two showers in a row.

Sam shrugs and wanders off to the bathroom, and Dean's left alone with nothing better to do than checking the guns and the silver bullets again; he already did that back at the camp, since he suspected a shifter from the get-go. Slowly, he rolls one of the bullets between thumb and index finger, puts it back and pulls two silver knives out of the duffel as well.

If he's honest, he didn't really think they could wrap this up in a day. But one's allowed to hope, right? He always does, hopes that Sam won't have to go through a night in an unfamiliar room, but he's done the job long enough to know it's neither predictable nor something to be rushed. That only causes mistakes, and he's already got enough lives on his conscience. No need to add any more.

It doesn't matter how often Dean tells himself that they did everything they possibly could to prevent the apocalypse from happening at all, he's not ever going to believe it. On one of their many wakeful nights since then, Sam told him some geeky shit about roads you don't take and a science theory that says that every time a human being makes a decision, there's a parallel universe developing in which it decides the exact opposite.

Dean likes to think that's true, and that somewhere out there another Dean's taking long hot showers, watching TV all night and eating burgers and truck stop-pie whenever he wants to and, most importantly, has a brother by his side who doesn't know a thing about what it feels like to have the devil wear him to the prom.

 

***

 

Parties for teenagers weren't Dean's thing even back when he actually was a teenager, but they're really so much worse if you're an adult who tries not to stand out like the lone red flower in a field of white ones. Dean expects the too-many teens in too-cramped a space to collectively turn around and point their fingers at them at any time, but that doesn't happen. He's not sure if the reason for that is the average blood alcohol level in here, the fact that neither of them are hard on the eyes or if these kids are just used to older men showing up at their parties. Which, unsettling thought.

So, yes, the good news is that there's actually some sort of underground club very close to the first crime scene. But that's it with progress, because even if they knew what questions to ask no one would even hear them over the music, not deafeningly loud but not quiet enough for useful conversations either, and they still don't have the faintest idea who they're looking for.

Until they pretty much bump into him, that is.

This shapeshifter might be just about the dumbest monster Dean ever came across, because there it is, still with the face of its latest murder victim and presumably on the lookout for the next.

It is, however, not dumb enough to take its chances on four men who clearly don't belong at this party and stare at it in a way that's probably pretty telling about their intent. Slowly, it backs up, pushing people aside until it's out of the crowd and has an escape route in sight, and then it turns and runs.

Darren and Cas head for a back door to try and cut off its retreat before it has a chance to escape and Sam and Dean, being closest, both start after the thing. But Dean shoves his brother out of the way before they reach the door, hard enough that he stumbles. He can feel his brother's gaze practically boring into his back and knows he's in for a chew out later, but right know he's content to have Sam out of the direct line of fire and runs.

The shapeshifter runs outside and, much to Dean's chagrin, keeps running for a good long while. It doesn't even slow down until they reach a public park of some sort. Dean gives it his all once more despite slowly running out of breath, hoping he might catch up with it, but he's too late. The park transitions into a small forest, and pretty soon they lose sight of the thing.

Dean meets up with the others by the cars, the default agreement if they'd had to get separated on a hunt, and they quickly agree that going after it in the dark doesn't make much sense. They decide that they'll drive back to their rooms for the night and come back in the morning to check the park out in daylight. It's not much of a lead, but save for waiting until they run into it again it's all they've got for now and, hey, maybe they'll get lucky and find at least a trace of it.

They all get going, and Sam barely waits until Dean started the ignition. "You stupid bastard."

"Say what?" Not much of a chance that playing dumb is going to get him out of this one, but it's worth a shot.

No dice, Sam's features screw up in a classic bitchface, mixed with more than a hint of anger. "Don't try that with me. I hate it when you -"

Dean interrupts him. "Nothin' happened, the thing shook me off, so what's the matter?"

Sam glares but doesn't answer.

 

***

 

Chances are Dean's dreading the rest of the night more than Sam is. He's well aware that he's hovering. Asks Sam if he's ok, if he's going to be fine at least five times between entering the motel room and actually putting the candles out before sleep, and earns himself an eye roll for his trouble each time.

But he's concerned for good reason, as it turns out. It becomes the worst night they've had in at least a year.

Things start out regular, with Sam tossing and turning, his breathing speeding up and him whispering things in his sleep that Dean's glad he can't make out. He makes these sounds as if he's being strangled, half-whimper, half-sob, and each of them causes an invisible fist around Dean's heart to squeeze harder. The fact that he doesn't know what's going on behind Sam's closed eyelids, in is head, makes it both easier to bear and more difficult, and Dean's lying there, awake, feeling like an intruder but justifying it with his desire to help and the fact that Sam wants him around.

It gets worse fast, much worse than normal. Soon Sam's crying, his whimpering growing louder. When Sam screams, Dean's had it. He's out of his bed in an instant, runs over to Sam's, shakes his brother awake and sits down on the bed.

Sam needs a few moments to fully come back to himself and remember where he is, and even after that he keeps clinging to Dean, fingers digging into Dean's arms, head in his lap. He's still sobbing, words mumbled in-between that Dean has to strain to understand. It's clear what they are about, though.

"Shh," he shushes, "he's gone. And even if he wasn't, I'd never let him get to you again. No one's going to get to you ever again, I swear." Dean wraps his arms around his brother, finds himself rocking him a little, like he did when Sam was a kid and had a nightmare. It's the same situation now, only the reason behind it all so different, and he has to swallow a few times to keep his voice steady. He keeps going, repeats those words, promises Sam to keep him safe no matter what over and over, and eventually, Sam quiets down.

After a while, Dean moves to go back to his own bed, but Sam reaches for his wrist when he gets up. "Don't. Please, stay here."

They haven't done that in months, but it's something Sam outright asks for and only if he really needs the contact, so Dean stays, lays down and fits himself against Sam's back. He wraps his arms around his brother, listens for Sam's breath until it evens out and for a long while afterwards.

The rest of the night, Sam sleeps uninterrupted and quietly.

 

***

 

When Dean wakes the next morning, Sam's already up and throws a little grease-stained paper bag against his head in lieu of a good morning. Literally against his head; it hits Dean's cheek.

"You feel better, huh?" he grunts - or something along those lines anyway - yawns and stretches his arms out over his head.

It was intelligible enough for Sam. "Yeah. You happen to be an awesome cuddly blanket."

"Dude, can we not talk about that in broad daylight?" While shaking his head, Dean remembers the paper bag, picks it up from where it ended up on the bed next to him and peers inside. He's not sure what the content is exactly, but it's baked goods, smells like fruits and vaguely sugar and altogether looks as if it's going to give his taste buds the kind of experience they really miss getting on a regular basis. "Where did you get this?"

"There's a bakery around the corner, still in business. They don't offer much beyond bread and rolls and some simple cakes, but I couldn't come back here without bringing this along for you."

Dean's got no idea how they manage to run a business like that with the rationed power, and, well, the rationed everything, let alone bake sweet little goodies like this, but he honestly doesn't care.

"Much appreciated." He bites into the pastry, making a small grunt of appreciation, and Sam watches him doing it with a smile on his face.

"Hurry up a little, though, I let you sleep in. We're supposed to meet up with Cas and Darren" - Sam checks his watch - "fifteen minutes ago."

 

***

 

The park is a bust as far as new leads go. It's also too close to a playground crowded with kids and their moms, which doesn't make checking around without raising eyebrows any easier. Before they give up, though, they notice a small, ramshackle old house a little ways off the paths that separate the greens.

And damn if that's not too creepy not to check out.

Not many people go astray that far from the playground, there's just a young couple ambling along hand in hand - Dean's got an idea of what they're planning to do in the forest- and a mother with a little pig-tailed girl. The girl waves at them as they walk by, while the mom's throwing a stick for her dog. Neither of the adults pays attention to the four of them, so the other three just shield Dean from view while he picks the lock and inside they go.

It doesn't look much better from the inside than it looked from the outside; whatever it's been used for back in the day, it apparently stopped fulfilling that purpose years ago. There's dust everywhere, it's covered in spider webs and mostly empty save for a few rotten furniture pilling up in the corners. From the smell of it a rat or a raccoon or some other critter died in a corner somewhere, there's a strong scent of decay mixed in with the mold. Or, in short: No one's taken of care of this place for a long time.

Which doesn't mean it's uninhabited. When they enter the corner of one of the rooms upstairs they're greeted by an improvised sleeping place made of blankets and pillows, and it looks as if someone's made a small fire in the middle of the room in order to cook something; the dirty dishes are still lying around.

It all happens so fast after that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees someone enter the room, turn on his heels and run, and he immediately starts after him. He doesn't know if the others saw it too or are just following after him, but they're right behind him when he runs down the stairs, around a corner - and directly into the shapeshifter.

Fair fighting isn't something creatures learn at Sunday school, as it seems, because the thing opens the fight with a clout and a knee to the jewels, a combination that causes Dean's aim to be a little off when he tries to land a right hook. The shifter counter-attacks with a fist to the solar plexus, and that's it, Dean's on the floor.

Darren sweeps in, trying to get the thing from behind while Cas steps in front of it, but the shapeshifter falls backwards, slamming Darren against the wall hard; Darren lets go and sinks to his knees.

The shapeshifter shoves Cas out of the way as well, his body hitting the wall with a grunt. From where he's lying on the ground Dean can't do a damn thing.

And the shifter runs out the door, onto the street.

Sam races past Dean, out of the door to try and go after the creature, while Dean's still trying to stay conscious. A warm line of blood runs down his temple and his vision's a little blurry, but going after the damn fucker alone isn't a good idea. So he ignores the complaints arriving in his brain from various parts of his body and scrambles to stand up. Cas is helping Darren to his feet, both moving slow and wincing but seemingly okay, and Dean hurries outside after Sam.

The mother with the little girl from earlier is still there playing with her dog, and the shapeshifter narrowly misses running into both of them.

Sam's not that lucky - he runs into the girl full force. And okay, that happens, but what he does next has Dean staring at the scene in disbelief: Sam pushes the kid out of the way hard enough that she trips, falls to her feet and starts to cry, and when he stops it's not to apologize or help her up. No, he turns towards the mother, and yells - fucking _yells_ \- at her for not taking her "damn brat" away in time, and didn't she see that he was heading their way?

The astonished mother doesn't answer him, opens and closes her mouth like a fish, and Sam just waves a hand and starts after the shapeshifter again.

When Dean catches up with them both, Sam's already got it done. The dead creature lies at Sam's feet and he's just putting away his gun.

Something keeps Dean from confronting him about the girl right there, something in Sam's face. It's closed up, almost cold, and Dean finds himself not really wanting to know what Sam would answer if he pushes the issue now.

 

***

 

It's not that big a deal, Dean tells himself later. Heat of the moment, adrenaline rush, that's all. But Dean thinks back on a lot of moments lately, things that seemed strange. It's a behaviour so very much unlike Sam, and then there's the expression on his brother's face after he killed the shifter.

Dean's fingers go cold just thinking about it.

Still. Everyone's allowed to have bad days, right? No need to make a fuss.

 

___________________________________________

 

Dean doesn't think about the incident with the shifter and the girl much. In fact, he makes an effort not to.

And Sam gives him no reason to dwell on it. He's being his usual self, even a little more cheerful than his post-apocalyptic standard due to having finished a hunt successfully; Sam might be less interested in hunting nowadays, but he experiences a fresh burst of energy afterward. For a few days, anyway.

The last thing Dean's going to do is destroy that by confronting his brother about a little slip-up that's really not that big of a deal anyway.

 

***

 

About a week later, a small group of refugees arrives at the camp. That doesn't happen as often as it used to in the first year. Most people have already settled down in their new life and don't need survivor-camps anymore, so it's always an event that has the old residents gathering around and, well, staring shamelessly. It reminds Dean a little of the first day of high school after summer break when the older kids check out the new kids and freshmen.

Of course it's different now, he usually experienced those days as the one being stared at and not from the safe spot of someone who already belongs.

He and Sam and Cas have saved themselves a position on a bench near Adele's cabin, which is where the new people usually have to register in, wait to be sorted and sent off to the cabin or tent that's going to be their new home for the time being.

The perfect position to inspect the new additions.

"Anyone hear anything about why they came here?" Dean squints to see everyone more clearly even though they're barely at the gate yet. He turns to Sam, Cas and Sam again.

Sam usually doesn't show much interest, joining them for Dean's sake and to avoid being alone, but Cas has already picked up some gossip. "I hear there was a storm at a camps fuck-knows-where, and its occupants have to be re-located for the time being."

That does catch Sam's attention. "Typical storm, or something less natural?" As far as they know there haven't been any unnatural events since the fight, but Sam always gets uneasy if they hear about something.

Cas knows that as well as Dean does, and Dean's glad that he quickly reassures Sam. "Typical storm, I'm pretty sure. Apparently the area has always been prone to storms; there's been some talk about why anyone'd want to build a camp there, let alone live in it."

"Hm." Sam nods but he inches a little closer to Dean, makes their knees touch. People he doesn't know entering his comfort zone is another item on the long list of things that Sam makes Sam uneasy these days.

They wait in silence while the refugees make their way through the gate, get out of cars and off of motorcycles, following the direction signs that lead to what Adele stubbornly calls her office. It's a relatively small group, maybe twelve or fifteen adults and a few kids, and they look a little under the weather. Which, Dean, figures, is normal if you've just fled from a storm and have been on the road for god knows how long. There's something off about them beyond that, though, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

He's not the only one to notice it. "Is there any particular reason for them to look like they've already ran out of detergent in - where do they come from, again?" Cas says.

"You tell me," Dean answers. "Between the three of us, gossip is your forte."

Cas gives his best fake-offended expression. "I really don't like the judgement resonating in that statement. I'm just keeping us up to date." He winks. "Anyway, I have to take a leak. Be right back."

With that, he gets up, and Dean turns his attention back to the refugees. Cas is right; they look slightly grimmer than would be necessary. It's not just that their clothes are dirty, that'd be understandable after what they've been through. But the clothes give the impression as if they didn't look much better even before the storm and the long drive: threadbare, handmade or patched together from old fabric remnants. Like they've been taken straight out of Waterworld.

And then it dawns onto him - after the downfall of society as they knew it, some people turned to a lifestyle Dean would describe as "hippie". But that doesn't quite cut it. These groups took the eco-movement and went with it, banning even the parts of civilization that are still intact. They don't use electricity, don't barter for the rare industrial products that are still being made, cultivate their own food and don't eat anything else.

Next to him, Sam shakes his head and chuckles in a low, dark tone that makes something in Dean's stomach turn. "Fucking idiots. It's not like they have to roll in their misery and become smelly and disgusting just because life's become a little harder." Then he jumps off the bench, still chuckling, and strolls off towards their tent without another word.

 

***

 

Cas returns a few minutes later, raising an eyebrow at Sam's absence, but he doesn't comment and Dean doesn't bother to explain. How could he explain something he's far from getting himself?

The two of them watch the scene by Adele's cabin for a while, but neither of them's really paying attention. Dean worries about Sam, obviously, and the way Cas throws him questioning glances whenever Dean's looking even vaguely in his direction tells Dean that Cas is worrying about him. About them, about what happened that Sam left with no reason and isn't coming back to join them.

Chances are Dean could easily resolve the whole thing and keep everyone from worrying about anyone by just going over to their tent and talking to Sam, but the direct approach has never been his favourite.

 

***

 

Sam's back a little more than an hour later, smiling weakly at Dean and otherwise looking more like himself and Dean's considering that he just imagined the whole thing. Again. Maybe there's something wrong with _him_?

That night, Dean doesn't sleep well. He dreams of Michael, not the usual dreams about pieces of the archangel's mind bleeding into his, but of the possession. What little he remembers of it anyway.

He dreams of how it felt to be inside of his body, but not in charge of it.

 

***

For the next two or three weeks, nothing major happens. But there are small moments in which Sam's snappy, cold, sometimes downright mean, so insignificant most of the time that Dean thinks he might be overreacting or imagining things. But it's enough to keep him wary, on edge, and thinking too hard.

 

***

 

They're sitting in front of their tent, folding the laundry Sam just brought back from the washing lines. Dean's studying his brother while he concentrates on folding his sweaters the right way, a task Sam already hated when he was a kid.

But that was a long, long time ago.

And now? There's no point in denying it anymore, Sam's different.

Not always, sure, Sam's still _Sam_ in every way that counts, but if you know someone as well as Dean knows his brother, it's obvious. For a while, Dean just filed it under misunderstandings or suspected that the nightmares and bad moods might've gotten worse - Dean sure as hell knows how that can wear a guy down - and that Sam's sleep-deprived and lashing out, but he's less and less sure about that.

It's not even the snappiness and things he says. After all, Dean knows how much of an asshole he can be if he's in bad shape, and Sam's allowed to react that way too. What has Dean worried is the whole attitude, the way Sam almost behaves like he's another person all together. As if someone's pretending to be Sam and almost gets it right, but not quite.

Worst thing is, it feels strangely familiar. And fuck, Dean really doesn't like the direction that thought is taking him.

As if to prove him wrong - or right, depending on how you look at it - Sam chooses that moment to snap his fingers right in front of Dean's face and smiles fondly when Dean looks up at him. Dean blinks in confusion.

"Dude, whoever you were dreaming about, I hope she's hot." He bumps Dean's shoulder for good measure. "One of the hippies?"

Dean flips him off, which is more of an instinctive reaction to brotherly banter than anything else. "What? No. Fuck you!" But he finds himself smiling back, because, yeah.

Definitely still Sam.

 

***

 

As it turns out, the group of eco-hippies currently staying in the camp consists of more kids than adults. Dean doesn't really mind that said kids are scurrying around at the moment, but he's not used to being around kids much. For the most part, he ignores them and tries to be a good sport.

But Sam? He's flourishing around the rugrats, spending a lot of time playing games with them, letting the little ones climb all over him or throwing balls with the teenagers, and he even volunteered to help out when one of the dads who teaches the kids caught a stomach bug.

And considering that Sam's more relaxed and happier than he's seemed in a good long while, Dean's more than fine with that. He's even sneaking in with him to watch the lessons Sam gives; it's basic stuff, like orthography or the 1x1, but it's fun watching Sam have a good time doing it.

He's good at it too. The kids like him and so do the parents, and when there's a birthday, Sam gets invited. He brings Dean, of course, because this Sam doesn't go anywhere without him, and as they stand there, eating self-made carrot cake and drinking homebrew, Dean's thoughts wander to another party they attended. It feels like a lifetime ago. He wonders if the hippies came to the same conclusion as the host-slash-realtor all those years ago, and considers slapping Sam's ass just for old time's sake and to see how they react.

God, the places his mind wanders to when he's bored.

Around him, the birthday girl and her friends giggle and squeal and chase after each other, and one of them bumps into his leg. She looks up to him, smiles brightly and sing-songs a "sorry, sir", and something inside of him aches.

He's not sure if it's a memory of Sam when he was little, because Dean's accepted the fact that some of the memories he has of his brother are those of a father, not a brother, or the faint longing for a life that centers around more than Sam and hunting.

Maybe a bit of both.

There was a brief moment on the field that day in which he'd thought about to leaving the world to fend for itself this time. Be done with it. Grab Sam and run, find a quiet place to hide, and maybe someone to share it with for each of them. They're both damaged goods, but who knows? Women fall for bigger fuck-ups all the time.

But, of course, he didn't. He isn't even sure if he'd known how, had he tried. And now it's too late.

Dean's heading toward a tent when he hears a yelp. He starts running even before he takes the time to think about it. Instinct: Someone screams, you go and help. Sam's got the same instinct, so Dean's not at all surprised when he sees his brother let go of the skipping rope he's been holding for another two little girls and join him. They arrive at the open entrance of the tent almost at the same time.

A little boy is in there, and what Dean assumes is his father. The kid's crying, protecting his face by holding his arms up in front of it and the father has his hand raised. Dean's about to jolt forward, give the Dad a taste of his own medicine, but Sam's grabbing his arm before he can make the move. Sam drags him away fast enough that neither kid nor dad notice they were there.

Dean turns on his heels once Sam lets go of his arm, ready to call bullshit, but every word dies in his throat when he looks at Sam's face. He knows what's coming before Sam even opens his mouth to speak, sees it in the suddenly hardened lines of his face and in the way his expression is somewhere between bored and annoyed.

 _His_ Sam cares, but this isn't him.

He stares back at Dean, his eyebrows shooting up. "What?" he says, "Are you dense? Do you have to cause trouble?"

"Am _I_ dense? What the hell, Sam? You saw what he's doing!" There's the sound of a slap inside of the tent, followed by another high-pitched yelp, and Dean's torn between just shoving not-Sam out of the way to get in there and staying here to clock _Sam_ one. But Sam's in front of him in an instant, hand on his chest to hold him back.

"None of our business." He rolls his eyes at Dean, mouth twisting up on the sides, but other than that there's no emotion on his face.

His hand on Dean's chest suddenly skeeves Dean out, and he has to take a step back. "None of our... What's wrong with you?" But he's not giving Sam a chance to answer. He turns on his heels, trying hard not to outright run away from him. Even though they're not driving much these days, Dean always keeps the car keys on himself, and just now he's very aware of their solid weight in his pocket. He knows this feeling, the need to just get out, get away, put miles between him and whatever member of his family he just fought with, and yeah. That's exactly what he's going to do. Apocalypse and rare gas be damned, he needs this now.

He runs into Cas on the way to the Impala, who knows him well enough to recognize that Dean's upset by his quick sprint to the car. "What happened?" he asks, but all Dean can do is throw his hands up and keep walking.

 

***

 

If there's one thing Dean's always been good at, it's repression and run-arounds, so when he finally finds the nerve to go to their tent and face Sam it's already getting dark.

Sam's lying on his cot and staring at the ceiling, but he turns as soon as Dean enters. "You're in late."

"Yep." Dean waits for a moment. He's been turning possible ways to approach the issue at hand around in his head for the last hour or so, but now that he's seeing Sam - seeing his face, his expression back to normal except for the anxiety written all over it - he goes with his gut instinct. "You feeling okay, Sammy?"

There's a pause, just long enough to make Dean doubt Sam when he answers, "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Sam." He crosses the two or three yards from the entrance to Sam's bed and sits down next to him, lays his hand on Sam's knee and squeezes gently. A quick reassurance. Sam lets out a breath, relaxes visibly and smiles gratefully.

"Dean, I... I don't remember. About earlier. Cas told me you took the car and wouldn't tell him what's wrong. Did we have a fight? It kinda feels like that, but I don't remember what happened." He averts his eyes and swallows. "It's not the first time, either. I think."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean tries his best not to make it sound like an accusation, he just needs to know. A thousand different thoughts, fears and imagined ways how their world might still come tumbling down on them chase each other in his head. Panic closes in on him, tightening and closing up his throat, but he shoves all of it away. Refuses to let any of that bubble to the surface, to let it show on his face for Sam to see.

Sam's freaked out enough as it is, the last thing he needs is Dean losing his shit on him.

Dean strokes his hand up and down Sam's thigh, squeezes again, and waits Sam out when he doesn't answer right away.

Eventually, Sam swallows once more and finds Dean's gaze before he speaks. "Talking about it, saying it out loud, would've made it real. Really happening, you know?" He laughs a little, but it's bitter. "Dean, what if it's... If it's _him_? I just, I can't -" Sam's voice breaks, tears start rolling down his face and he wipes them away with the back of his hand.

Dean's got no answer to that. He isn't even sure if talking's a good idea right now, afraid that every word he says might give way to the raw, naked fright that's trying to overwhelm him.

But Sam's there, right in front of him, falling apart, and even after everything they've been through, everything he's seen, witnessing his brother cry is still one of the worst situations Dean can imagine. He always feels utterly helpless and angry at the same time, ready to tear apart whoever - or whatever - is causing it. And if that option falls flat, he simply doesn't know what to do.

He ends up wrapping one arm around Sam, then both, and before he really knows it he's hugging him close and Sam's clinging back, holds on for dear life until he's exhausted himself with crying and falls asleep in Dean's arms.

 

****

 

Whichever way you look at it, being inhabited by an archangel or the devil himself changes you.

Dean's been trying to bury it as deep as he could, because even though none of the few memories he has from when Michael was inside of him were really unpleasant, the thought of losing control like that, of being shoved into a corner of his mind with no control over your own body whatsoever, is still a horror he can't even find words to describe.

The fact that by agreeing to that, by lending his body to Michael, he also risked that it'd be his hand that smashes the devil inside of Sam's body to bits and pieces is something else that would give him an ulcer if he'd allowed himself to think about it.

But, the truth is, he sometimes thinks that not all of Michael is gone. The archangel did leave the building, Dean's sure of that, but he left pieces of himself within Dean's mind. The dreams are proof of that, and even when he's awake, he sometimes stumbles upon fragments of thoughts that aren't his.

And if Michael left something of himself within Dean, then Lucifer... Dean's not really sure if he wants to think about that.

But he has to. For Sam. And he needs to do something, even though he can't figure this out on his own.

An hour later he's on his way to Bobby's; it's not that far, a three-hour-drive. All Dean wants is to stay here, not let Sam out of his line of sight for even a second, but that won't help his brother.

So Dean keeps trying to get enough of a grip on himself to decide what to say. The current situation with Sam, what it meant to be a vessel, dreams and stray thoughts, and does he really want Bobby to know about any of it? Dean's not even sure how much he'll be able to tell, if he can get the words out, but he can't deal with this alone. His thoughts keep doing 180s and he needs Bobby for this, needs his calm manner and knowledge to sort this out.

The mess in his own head, mixed up with the worry and the fear and _oh god, please, don't put Sam through that again_ doesn't let him think clearly.

He asks Cas to come, too, and Sam gets ready to join them, excited about the opportunity to see Bobby. But he backs off as soon as he realizes what this is about, and Dean's glad he doesn't have to point out the awkwardness of having Sam along for this particular visit. The influence the devil had on your brother's behaviour and personality isn't something you discuss with him along for the ride.

Dean tries to smile reassuringly when they leave. "I'll tell you everything Bobby said when we're back, all right?"

Sam nods and smiles back, clearly for Dean's benefit, and slinks back to the tent like a beaten dog.

 

***

 

They're a just a few miles into the drive when Dean can't stand the silence and the worry that's practically radiating off Cas anymore. He clears his throat and decides to take the bull right by the horns. "Did you happen to notice anything, uh, off about Sam lately?"

"So, I guess we're not just paying Bobby a courtesy visit, then. That's what this is about? Sam?" He's been looking out the window, watched the world pass outside, but now he turns to Dean.

"It's impolite to answer a question with another question, you know."

"And you care about what's polite and what isn't since...?" Cas is grinning, that kind of warm, slightly mocking and yet fond grin he picked up sometime during the last two years and has worked on perfecting since.

But Dean's so not in the mood for that, despite Cas' best intentions to lower the tension. No joking around now, he's barely holding it together at it is. "Cas, please."

Cas's smile fades and he cocks his head to the side, assessing. "He's a little... Harsh sometimes, if that's what you mean? And sometimes I think his sense of humor's becoming a little scathing. Although that might just be me misunderstanding things."

"Not just you. And yeah, that's what I mean. Sorta. The other day, when you saw me on my way to the car?"

A nod for confirmation. "I remember, yes."

"We'd just have a fight. But that's not really the point. Sam's not, I dunno, he's not himself sometimes. Last night, he admitted that he sometimes blacks out. Doesn't remember what he did or said or where he was. And during that he's... He's..." Dean runs a hand down his face and sighs.

"Off," Cas supplies.

"Yeah. Off. Not himself." Dean pauses. "You think there's a chance Lucifer's still in there somewhere?" Dean takes one hand off the wheel, kneading the back of his neck with it for a moment.

Cas looks at him with an expression that Dean can't quite sort. It's not offended, but questioning and, strangely, a little hopeful. "You mean, could I still sense it if he were?"

"Could you?"

"I think so. Of course I can't know for sure, as you know I haven't seen any angels since I lost all contact to the host, but I do think I'd notice something if Lucifer was still inside of him." Dean's not sure if he's relieved or even more worried, and emo-detector that he is these days, Cas latches onto that. "Let's see what Bobby says, hm? Maybe hit the books a bit?"

Dean nods and turns the radio on.

 

***

 

Bobby demands to know more details than Cas did, and so Dean talks. About the shifter hunt, the kid in the tent, the irritation and how cold and empty Sam looks, as if he's not himself. He talks about the conversation from the other night, the blackouts and how terrified Sam is of what they both fear might be happening to him.

And, yeah, about Michael, despite how very much he doesn't want to talk about that, ever.

But he does. For the first time, he lays it all out there: how Michael seemed to have sensed the moment Dean finally gave in for good, how it freaked him out that the archangel just _knew_. How it felt to be pushed aside into a corner of his own mind, seeing and feeling and smelling and hearing but not having any control over his own body anymore, and how everything went black. In hindsight, he thinks maybe he wasn't out for it while it happened, what with still feeling the second presence in is mind for a while afterwards, but he can't remember much of what it was like, during. Thinks that maybe the loss of these memories is what allowed him to stay sane.

When he talks about the dreams, Bobby interrupts him. "When you say, it feels like some of these dreams are his, not yours, what do you mean? Did they rub off on you? Or do you mean something of himself is still there? Inside of your mind?"

"I don't know, Bobby. All I know is that it's stuff that I couldn't possibly know if it wasn't coming from him. But I don't feel like I still have a co-pilot either." He runs a hand across his face, silently begging Bobby not to inquire further but knowing he might have to.

Bobby nods, takes his cap off and runs his fingers through his hair. "If Cas doesn't sense anything and you don't feel, how do I put it, a presence anymore, we should probably try to find out more about what might've happened two years ago. I suppose you're still drawing a blank on that?"

"Yeah. Fragments, yes, but kinda surreal. And other than that I got a whole lot of nothin'."

The cap comes off and on again. "Well, it's not like I haven't spent countless hours reading about this already, but you never know. Maybe we'll hit our toes on something this time."

After that, Bobby retreats for a while, returning with a stack of books and waving a hand to make Dean and Cas grab their share of it. They spend the rest of the day reading, but come up empty and when the sun starts to set Dean pushes to get going; he knows Sam wouldn't want to be alone at night, now even less than usually.

Bobby promises to keep looking until he finds something, anything, and to come over as soon as he does, and they drive back to the camp mostly in silence.

When Dean gets back sometime around midnight, Sam's still up, sitting cross-legged on his cot and doing some reading of his own. He looks up when Dean approaches, hopeful, and Dean finds he can't actually say out loud that they still pretty much know squat. So he just wordlessly shakes his head, and Sam's face falls.

 

****

 

Adele calls them into their cabin early in the morning a few days later, and that usually means one of two things: You screwed up big time and are about to get your ass kicked out of the camp, or she needs you for a particularly unpleasant task.

Because Dean's unaware of any screw-ups he's relatively relaxed while they walk up to the cabin, all three of them. Work's never scared him off, no matter what kind. The worse he can imagine is a barter deal that means they have to risk getting shot, and that's not something he's afraid of much either.

She likes to make people wait, probably a way to demonstrate power, but not this time; when they arrive at the cabin, Adele's already standing in the doorway. Her face is blank, but she's tapping a finger against the doorframe impatiently.

And okay, now Dean's maybe a little worried.

The cabin looks a lot like the hunting lodges they stayed in with their dad when they were little and John was following some creature in the woods. Its walls are blank wood and the ground is made of planks, most of which squeak when stepped on the wrong way. Adele's desk gives a stark contrast to that, it's mostly made of metal and glass, and not for the first time Dean wonders how she managed to get it here intact. A couple of simple chairs - the kind you find in diners - stand in front of it, and some more are stacked next to the desk. In one corner, there are two filing cabinets and on the side opposite to it several shelves that reach from the ground to the ceiling. There's a second room in here, but that's her private bedroom.

There's no bullshitting around with Adele, she always goes right to the point as if every word costs extra, so she opens the conversation right after they all entered the cabin and took a seat. "I got a call from my niece yesterday, she lives in a village in the area. And they might have... A situation there. Your kind of situation."

Even now, hunting's not an occupation you go to town with and Dean always thought they were doing an okay job of keeping it a secret, all things considered.

Apparently not so much.

While Dean's still scrambling for words, Sam takes over. He's wearing his best innocent expression with a side dish of lost puppy, and Dean's kind of impressed. "Our kind of situation? What would that be? You know we're just -"

"Oh, don't start that with me. I'm not nearly as senile as I look, neither am I blind nor deaf." She glares at each of them, one by one, taking her time. "There's a, uh, thing killing people, and my Patty is terrified. The whole village is."

There's real worry in her voice, and after exchanging quick looks with both Sam and Cas, Dean decides now's not the time for protecting secrets. "What kind of thing?"

"Isn't it your job to find that out?"

Cas jumps in. "No, what he means is, why does she think it's our kind of thing? Not human?"

"Ah. Well, she said a few people saw... weird stuff. But the police aren't paying attention to it, and they're pretty much fishing in the dark while bodies keep turning up."

That's not much to go by, but of course the other two don't feel like pointing that out. So, naturally, it's on Dean to inquire further. "Weird stuff. You don't have anything specific?"

Adele stands - never a good sign - puts her hands on the edge of her desk and leans forward to stare daggers into Dean's chest from up close. "How about you get your asses in gear and get the _specifics_ yourself?"

"Uhm, sure. Ma'am."

That sound Sam's making is one Dean knows all too well. He's trying real hard to stifle a snicker, that little asshole.

Thankfully, Cas isn't quite as mischievous. He asks Adele for her nieces' address, and they're out of the cabin a few minutes later with a handwritten note and the warning to not fuck this up.

While Cas goes to get Darren, Dean makes Sam sit down on the benches in front of the cabin. "Are you up for it? I'm sure Cas and Darren could manage this one alone."

Sam shakes his head. "No way, I'm going. Adele's niece is in danger and we don't have a first idea of what we're up against, we need all hands on deck."

Dean's far from happy about that, but he understands; if the situation would be reversed, he'd insist on coming along, too. Putting their own issues before hunting just isn't them. "Yeah, okay. Just, tell me if you don't feel well or if something's wrong."

"Will do." Sam smiles at him reassuringly, and that causes Dean's stomach to churn. He's not the one in need of help, of being protected, being saved. Sam is.

It took Dean a long time to catch on to the fact that he's not the only one with a desire to protect and shield his brother from harm. It started to dawn on him a little when his last year came to a close before hell, but afterwards, he misunderstood Sam's actions, Ruby and the demon blood and Lilith and what looked like a simple thirst for revenge. Later, he was too busy feeling hurt and betrayed to realize it for what it was, but now he does.

Now he gets it. Sam's being as protective of Dean as Dean is being protective of Sam. It shows in a different way, sure, and it's not necessary often anymore, but it's been becoming more and more obvious as Dean allowed himself to see it. Little things, since the big picture is solved as best as they could manage: if Dean manages to piss off one of the hunters passing through Sam tends to position himself between Dean and the rest of the world, towering and almost growling, and Dean's not sure if he's worried or proud. (Dean's still Dean, people in the life still know too much about what they've been through and sometimes he _can't_ keep quiet if faced with their bullshit.) On hunts, Sam doesn't put up with any of Dean's stupid stunts anymore, doesn't let him get away with rushing to catch the proverbial bullet.

Or like now: Trying to protect him from worrying about Sam.

 

___________________________________________

 

By noon, they're ready to go. Adele's there when they pack the cars, and the fact that she comes to wave them off is a clear reminder that this is important to her for personal reasons. Family.

The village in question is nearby, not even a half hour drive despite the fact that they're moseying along after Darren's truck the whole time. When they arrive at the address Adele gave them her niece is waiting outside, sitting on the porch.

As soon as she notices the cars taking a turn for her property, she gets up and comes up to meet them where they're about to park. Adele's niece doesn't look like Adele at all. She's taller, so scrawny she almost looks androgynous, hair brown and clothes mannered but aimed to point out the curves she doesn't have.

And she's busy giving the Impala an appreciative once-over when they come to a stand and Dean opens the driver's side door. "Auntie Adele told me to look out for a real beauty, but she didn't say how much of a gem it was going to be." Totally ignoring both Dean and Sam, she lets her fingertips slide across the metal and wolf-whistles.

Then she seems to remember that she's got human company as well, gives the car a last, lingering pat, and turns her attention towards them. "I'm sorry. My dad was a mechanic with a soft spot for old cars, and I grew up to, say, value their beauty."

"Nothing to be sorry for in my book. Though I did get a bit jealous there." Dean winks and Sam rolls his eyes more dramatically than strictly necessary.

She shakes Sam and Dean's hands, then walks the two steps to the truck to greet Cas and Darren. "I'm Patricia, pleasure to meet you all. Come inside, please."

The house is new, probably wasn't built long before the apocalypse. A few framed photos on a sideboard in the hallway confirm Dean's urban-housewife-assessment; there's a guy, brown hair already getting grey at the temples, in several photos with Patricia. It's mostly snapshots: a picnic on the beach, a barbeque at what appears to have been a camping trip, a few from parties with other people in it.

She leads them into a living room with a bit too much decoration for Dean's taste, offers them coffee or maybe a sandwich - she makes her own bread, she says, and there's a garden in the back where they grow all their vegetables - but the others decline, and the stray thought that every step they're making in this house might be reported back to Adele keeps Dean from being greedy alone.

In a few sentences, she recaps what she told Adele, about missing persons and a clueless sheriff and the whole town being terrified.

 

***

 

Patricia can't give them much as far as details go, but the fact that she's friends with the officer in charge at least saves them from having to lie their way into the morgue. He's not willing to share any of his progress, and Dean's almost sure that's because he hasn't really made much of it yet. The only thing he says is something about weird wounds, and some crazy-ass killer having a sick sense of fun, but they'd best have a look for themselves.

Left to their own devices, all four of them line up in front of the body, standing awkwardly until Sam steps forward and starts to investigate the body for clues. It's a girl named Lucy, barely even twenty, and at a first glance there's not much to see, no horrific wounds or missing limbs or anything equally gory, but it doesn't take Sam long to find the real cause of death.

He pokes Dean in the ribs and points towards the victim's neck. It's decorated with bite marks, two rows of fangs that lead to a clear conclusion.

The other two bend over to have a look as well, and Cas is the one to state the obvious: "Vampires."

"Yeah." Sam closes the rack and moves to check the other victims as well, nodding for confirmation after each. "At least it's nothing too complicated, but gettin' hold of some dead man's blood might be difficult."

He's right about that, and Dean's not a big fan of taking blood from the creature's own victims. "Gotta go without it then," he suggests. "Old school beheading, huh?"

Neither Sam nor Cas appear to be very fond of that suggestion, but Darren's face lights up. For an animal rights freak he's pretty gleeful about killing creatures, Dean thinks.

 

***

 

Hunting vampires is pretty much like hunting any kind of intelligent predator: you figure out its possible hunting grounds, and with a bit of luck and a lot of patience, they'll turn up. There's also the option of actively trying to find out where they hide, but differentiating between homes inhabited by humans and lairs of creatures that just look human got a lot more complicated after the apocalypse.

But to figure out said hunting grounds, you need at least some hints as to where those are.

Finding the people who saw the weird stuff Patricia mentioned isn't easy. She wasn't able to give names of real eye witnesses, and while everybody's heard something about these things, hears people talking, no one's been forthcoming with real information or the names of those who have might have it.

Patricia gave them a list of people to talk to, but they're down to two names and still don't know anything useful, and honestly, Dean's not really holding his breath for ground-breaking new information anymore.

The second-to-last is a guy named Jimmy, and he's the boyfriend of the sister of the last victim. When they ring the doorbell a lanky kid, probably in his early twenties, opens the door, answers that yes, he's Jimmy, and leads them into a sparsely furnished living room. The parents of the victim are in the process of moving out of the village, and don't want their remaining daughter to talk to anyone, but rumour has it that Jimmy was with Lucy and her sister shortly before she died.

He doesn't need to be prompted much, starts to talk without a cue. It's as though he's been waiting to tell this to someone who wants to listen to what he's got to say, and Dean's growing cautiously optimistic that they might have found their first actual witness. "I walked Lori, my girlfriend, home after we spent the evening at my place. Lucy was heading out when we got there and told us she wanted to go for a swim. There's a lake not far from Lori's house, you know? And we decided to join her. Lori picked up her bikini, and we went."

He pauses, and Darren nods at him encouragingly. "What happened then?"

"Me and Lori started to kind of make out in the water. Not really doing a whole lot, I mean, with Lucy being around, but she got pissed at us anyway and left but we didn't give much of a crap. Lucy's younger than Lori and can be kind of a brat sometimes, so we just stayed in the water. Lucy's gotten mad and stomped off and then came back after she's calmed down all the time." He pauses, his eyes become unfocused, and he gives off a sound that's somewhere between a sob and a gag. "And then we heard her scream, and by the time we got to her, she was dead."

Sam and Dean look at each other, at Darren and Cas, and it's Sam who says it. "Can you tell us where that lake is?"

 

***

 

It's late afternoon, and they decide to postpone the last name on the list in favor of checking out the lake while they've still got daylight on their side. It's small, surrounded by open grassy spaces and hedges and a few trees, and there's nothing that screams 'vampire lair' anywhere in sight.

But barring any other workable leads, they might as well keep an eye out. There's only one path leading up to the lake and it's half-hidden by another line of trees. The area around it pretty much consists of open fields; the lake itself is partly hidden from view by the growth, but it's possible to oversee most of it from the path.

And as they're all standing there pondering on the next step, Dean's having an idea. "Guys, I've got a plan. Kinda." He glances at Sam, then at Cas. "But you're probably not gonna like it much." No one's got a reply to that, so he continues. "If they've gone after a victim here before, they might do it again, right?"

"Please tell me you're not about to suggest that one of us is going to play bait?" Sam knows him too well.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

 

***

 

There's some arguing, as Dean expected, especially with Sam. But lacking any promising alternative they settle for his idea. After nightfall, Darren and Cas position themselves at the path, using the trees to hide, and Dean and Sam go for a swim. At some point Dean veers off to the beach alone.

And well, creatures are nothing if not predictable. It takes a little while, Dean's pretended piss is a long one, but then, suddenly, they're there.

Unfortunately, there are three of them.

One, Dean could've dealt with. Two as well. But this trio has got him off his feet and flying into a tree well before Sam or Cas and Darren can reach him. He's picked up from the ground and slammed against the tree again, feels fangs breaking through the skin at his neck. Then he's yanked forward, around, thrown back into the tree a third time, so hard that a sudden, sharp pain leaves no doubt that he's cracked a rib, before the thing goes for his neck again and takes a good, long gulp.

Dean loses track of time right there, getting weaker with every drop of blood that's sucked out of his body, and he barely even registers someone yanking the vamp off him or the sprinkles of blood that hit his face when the thing's head gets cut off.

The last thing he's really aware of is Sam still standing by the lake, frozen in place and just staring.

 

***

 

Dean's got no idea how long he's been out when he wakes up lying on the back seat of the truck. He reaches out to the back of the driver's seat for leverage, tries to bring himself into a more upright position and gets a painful reminder of his rib.

"Shh, don't move." Cas, technically sitting in shotgun, leans into the back towards him so much that most of his body is looms over the back seat.

"Did we get 'em?"

"Yes, of course, we got them all. We're going home now, try to get some sleep."

Dean does as he's told, and doesn't come awake again until he's being maneuvered out of the car and half-carried to the tent.

In the tent, he's distantly aware of being lowered down onto the cot, slowly and carefully, and of Sam taking one of his hands in his after Dean's settled.

He doesn't let go for a long time.

Not while they wait for the doctor from the next real town to make his way down here, not during the examination or while the doc tapes Dean's chest and cleans his neck, not while the others still wait to hear the exact diagnosis (broken rib indeed, Dean could've told them that himself, he's had enough to know what that feels like) and not after they're all gone. Sam alternately strokes a thumb over Dean's palm and rubs circles into the back of his hand, until Dean falls asleep, pain meds and exhaustion knocking him out.

When Dean wakes up, pretty much tangled up in Sam, it's daytime again. From the look of it, Sam fell asleep still sitting at the edge of Dean's cot and then wrapped himself around him in his sleep. Dean tries not to move, half because he doesn't want to wake Sam and half because it fucking _hurts_ , so he just lays there and listens to the sounds of the camp coming to life in the morning.

One of the things he loves most about this place is how it's buzzing with people at all times during the day. Someone's always got to run somewhere, shout at someone, handle this or carry that and make all kinds of noise, and it's even better at the moment with the kids around. It still surprises Dean how much he loves that. After hell, he tolerated Sam and maybe Bobby, later Cas, but the rest of the world used to set him on edge and made him want to shut it out rather than listen in.

Maybe that's what home is about, a place you enjoy being a part of.

Next to him, Sam comes awake with a shudder, as if he's surprised by it, and nuzzles at where his head is rested on Dean's chest, opposite to the broken rib.

The movement still hurts and makes Dean hiss, and that pushes Sam fully into awareness. He shoots up like something bit him. "Shit! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, uh. Sorry!"

"It's okay, Sam." Dean theatrically sniffles at the air where Sam used to be just heartbeats ago. "And go take a bath or something, you reek."

Sam's face scrunches up into something that wants to be a bitchface but is mostly just a really worried expression. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. I've got an excuse, I can't move properly, but you got no reason to smell like the wild hordes. And imagine what the odor in the tent will be like when the sun comes up and both of us still have it coming off us in waves." Dean makes a shooing motion with his hand. "Go, I'll be fine."

Sam scolds, but does go into the back to gather a towel and fresh clothes. On his way out, he points to a pack of pills sitting on a stool next to Dean's cot. "Take these, or I'll kick your ass when I'm back." Then he's gone.

And he doesn't come back for the rest of the day.

 

***

 

Dean's worried at first, then pissed as fuck and circling back to worried, but he doesn't go looking until the evening. One, the meds keep him under pretty good for large proportions of the day, and two, he's not sure if he's ready to face the possibility of having lost Sam to... whatever it is that's changing him, again.

He still refuses to admit to himself that yeah, he actually does think it's remnants of Lucifer causing this. Anything else just wouldn't make sense, but the Lucifer-option doesn't either. Why now, and wouldn't Dean be having the same blackouts with Michael if it were archangel-related? Then again, Lucifer always did seem more aggressive, more interested in Sam himself than Michael was in Dean, and Dean has no idea what exactly being a vessel had felt like for Sam. That their experiences weren't the same is obvious.

When Cas comes in around noon and sees the chair next to Dean's cot unoccupied, he keeps his question about it wordless. His eyes flicker to the chair and back to Dean, and he cocks his head in a way that's so familiar that Dean feels like he's looking through a wormhole in time.

"Is he...?" Cas doesn't finish the sentence, doesn't need to.

"He'll be back soon." Dean looks away, suddenly unable to stand the warmth and sympathy showing on Cas' face and feeling anger well up. "It's never taken long, he'll be back."

Understanding as he is now, Cas does him the favor of letting the topic drop. "Is there anything you need?" he asks instead, and Dean shakes his head.

"No, except for having my goddamn peace. Keep the others from comin' in, will you? This isn't General Hospital." To make a point, Dean rolls onto his good side as much as he can despite the pain flaring up at the motion, and Cas leaves without another word.

Around sundown, the effects of the meds fade enough to let the protective streak in Dean assume control. More aware and not spaced-out into numbness anymore, it occurs to him that Sam might hide out after coming back to himself, feeling guilty and ashamed, and if that's the case and Sam's alone out there? He's going to _freak_ during the night.

Getting up hurts like hell, walking isn't much more fun, but it's not that much worse than lying down and just breathing. But he's weak in the legs, grips whatever he can find for support.

Sam's nowhere to be found. It starts raining soon after he sets out to find his brother, and after more than two hours of almost crawling through the camp, searching everywhere twice while being soaked and shivering, Dean reluctantly returns to the tent.

Sam's standing by the entrance.

 

***

 

Dean tries his hardest to sound sympathetic rather than pissed and hurt and disappointed, he knows Sam's not doing this on purpose; he's got no control over it. "Do you remember where you've been?"

Sam just shakes his head. He's looking at the ground, avoids Dean's eyes, but he follows when Dean enters the tent. Inside, he crouches down to light the lamp, and when he turns back around to look at Dean, his face goes pale. "You're drenched. How long have you been out there?"

"How long do you think?!" Uh, that might've sounded harsher than Dean meant it to. "A while," he adds, voice softer.

Sam looks him up and down, still distinctly avoiding eye contact. "We need to get you out of your wet clothes before you lie back down."

That's easier said than done. Dean's worn out by the stumbling around, and the movements required to shuck out of his overshirt and shirt jostle his rib despite Sam's best efforts to help, and by the end of it he's beyond exhausted.

He falls asleep shortly after Sam lowers him onto the cot.

 

***

 

Sam's sitting next to the cot when Dean wakes up the next morning. He's still sleeping, but blinks awake as soon as he senses Dean move.

Dean squints at Sam while he yawns and stretches. "You feeling like yourself?"

"Yeah, 100 percent Sam Winchester again." He smiles. "I'm gonna go over to the kitchen to see if I can get you something to drink, maybe talk Adele into makin' you soup."

Oh no, not again. Dean pushes himself into a sitting position, pauses to take a breath and makes to swing his leg over the edge of the cot.

Sam, who was already turning to leave, stops dead. "What are you doing?"

"Comin' with you." Dean has to clench his teeth to keep from letting out a pained little cry, but he manages to stand up.

"No!" Sam reaches out to put a hand on Dean's chest, corrects himself in the last moment and puts it on his shoulder instead. "Would you _please_ acknowledge the fact that you've got a broken bone in your body and lost a lot of blood on top of it? I'm not gonna get lost again."

"Like you can control it."

"Fine." He puts gentle pressure where his hand still rests on Dean's shoulder to make him sit back down. "I'll stop by Cas's tent first thing and ask him to come with, if it makes you happy."

"Very." Dean makes a show of lying back down, at least until a fresh flare of pain causes him to be more careful.

As soon as the curtain on the entrance of the tent falls shut behind Sam, Dean can't help but worry anyway. But after a short while Sam's back, Cas in tow, both carrying several kinds of juice, homemade lemonade and a can of soup. There are also homemade cookies.

Dean chuckles at the sight. "I take it Adele's feelin' a little bit guilty?"

 

***

 

For the rest of the day, Dean allows himself to be spoiled and taken care of. Cas sticks around, and the three of them spend the day chatting and joking around. Sam even goes as far as reading him an old, dog-eared comic book that he borrowed from one of the kids.

It feels a little weird, somewhat childish, but mostly really good.

Towards evening, Dean starts to get worse. It hasn't got much to do with his broken rib - that still hurts but not more or less than before. No, it begins with a cough, then breathing becomes difficult and even more painful than the rib injury should make it. His airways fill with phlegm, and his throat starts to feel like he swallowed shards of broken glass.

By the next morning, Dean's running a fever, sweats despite feeling cold and has to cough so much it causes a constant, sharp and red-hot pain in his chest.

And by noon of the same day, Sam's gone again.

 

***

 

He doesn't disappear like before, but when Sam strolls into the tent after he left to take a leak, Dean sees it immediately. He's changed. There's a huge, toothy grin on his face that's so unlike Sam it makes Dean want to scream, and he's all around just goddamn _cheerful_ when he comes up to Dean's cot.

But he does have the courtesy to ask how Dean's feeling.

"I'm fine, thanks." A coughing fit contradicts him as soon as the lie leaves his lips.

"Sure about that?" Sam shrugs.

Dean's weighing his options. If Sam catches him at the blatant lie of pretending to be fine and goes along with it, he's going to give even more proof that yes, it's one of these days again, that not-Sam has the stage, and Dean's not very keen to spend much time with him. To protect Sam, Dean needs to keep an eye on him, be near him when he's coming back to himself. Fuck, he wants Sam around, period. But he's already groggy again, his mind's fogged by the fever, and he just... he can't deal with this. Not now, not when Sam's so obviously wrong, when he can't keep his thoughts from wandering, from remembering that night in Detroit.

He closes his eyes, curses himself, but settles for "Yeah. Peachy."

"Great. I'll be headin' out again. There's a chick, one of the hippies, who's been making bedroom eyes at me for a few days. Gonna take my chances," says Sam, smirking suggestively.

Dean doesn't trust his ears; he expected not-Sam to bail on him but this is too much. He wants to say something, but words have left him temporarily; all he can do is stare at Sam open-mouthed while he turns and strolls out of the tent.

Whatever's wrong with Sam, it's not supposed to happen like this. Their way of dealing with getting sick is a dance they've danced more times than Dean can count, familiar to both of them: the one who's sick tries to cover it up, bitches at the other for every attempt of administering help, but the bitching gets ignored and mother-henning ensues. Most of the time Dean really doesn't want the help, or rather doesn't want Sam to worry and refuses because of that, but Sam can see through it and insists on taking care of him anyway.

But Sam shrugging and actually leaving him here exhausted and sick and week in order to _fucking get laid_ isn't following the script, at all, not any version of it.

 

***

 

Someone's entering the tent just five minutes later. Dean's holding hope that Sam's changed his mind even though he knows better, deep inside, and of course he's right.

It turns out to be Cas, and Dean finds the fact that he apparently kept watch from afar somewhat heart-warming.

"He's done it again, hasn't he?" Cas asks after glancing around the tent.

Dean nods.

"Do you want me to go after him, keep an eye out?"

"No. He just announced that he's gonna get himself laid, and we wouldn't want to interfere with that, now, would we?" He snorts, which isn't a good idea given is current condition; it results in another coughing fit.

Cas waits until Dean's done hacking up a lung before expressing his bewilderment. "He... what?"

"You heard me right."

Cas looks to the entrance and back, as if that helps him process, then his features soften and he sits down on the cot by Dean's side. "As soon as you're better, we'll go to Bobby's, take Sam with us. Read every book he's got twice if we have to, and don't stop until we find out what's wrong, okay?" He reaches out towards Dean's face, hesitates for a moment but then obviously decides that he could give a damn about Dean's macho code and proceeds to feel Dean's forehead for the current state of his fever.

 

***

 

Cas stays until the fever gets the better of Dean and he falls asleep again.

When he wakes up the next time, it's from noises on other side of the tent.

It's gotten dark again, and Sam's back. From the sound of the noises Dean concludes he's not alone. For a horrible second or two, Dean thinks it's a fight, that something's gotten into the tent, and he's fully aware and stone-cold sober despite the pain and the sickness. His instincts kick in, zoom in on the noises and he tries to work out what's happening.

But what he's hearing isn't a fight. The moaning, slapping of flesh against flesh, Sam's name being whispered by a female voice... Dean's suddenly feeling sick, and he doesn't want to turn his head to get confirmation. It's pretty much the last thing he wants to do, seriously. But he can't not, has to see to believe it.

And, yes. That hippie chick Sam mentioned? Really was into him. They're not paying any attention to his presence in the room, don't tone it down at all, and Dean's almost grateful when sleep claims him again.

 

***

 

He comes to once more that night, almost relieved to find Sam standing next to his cot until he sees the expression on Sam's face. He's staring at Dean in a way that makes Dean feel like he's under a microscope, being examined and studied like an exotic insect.

"You know what's funny?" Sam's voice is dark, low but indifferent, emotionless in a way that reminds Dean of Michael.

"No doubt you're about to tell me," Dean croaks. Talking hurts by now.

Sam smiles, but it's vicious, like there's a living thing crawling just underneath his skin, pulling the strings. "You'd think I'd feel awkward about tonight. Ashamed, worried about what you might think." He leans in towards Dean, head cocked to the side, considering him. "But I don't. To be honest, I don't care about much lately." Leans in even further, so much that he's almost whispering into Dean's ear, that Dean can feel his breath hot on his neck. "And you know what? It's good. It's a relief. Nothing hurts anymore, nothing's holding me back."

Dean recoils, tries to get away from him, cries out when the movement causes a sharp pain in his chest, but Sam just puts a hand around his jaw to hold his face in place and leans in again. He continues the tone of his voice still unchanged, cold. "I don't even really care about you."

 

***

 

That's the last Dean sees of Sam for the next day or two, and he doesn't have much opportunity to worry about that. What started out as a cold seems to have developed into a full-fledged pneumonia, the frequent coughing fits keeping his rib from healing, and more than once Dean passes out from the combination of it.

Whenever Dean comes to, actually able to take his surroundings in, Cas is there. He's hovering, helping Dean through the worst of it, holding him up on his way to the john if he has to go, forcing juice or something that vaguely tastes like tea into him every once in a while.

When the fever spikes even higher, Cas goes and gets towels and a bucket of water, wets it to put it on Dean's forehead. He talks him through the pain when the coughing fits get so bad that Dean yelps from how much they jostle his rib.

On the third day, Cas has enough, calls for the doctor again, and he leaves some of the good stuff. The pills keep Dean from hurting too much, but they also make him sleepy.

Dean still surfaces from time to time, wakes up to either Darren or Cas watching over his sleep. He's going to deny later that he actually cries out for his brother at some point, begs Cas to please, please go get him.

But all this time, Sam's nowhere in sight, doesn't show up at all. Neither version of him.

 

___________________________________________

 

"You feel better?" That's Sam. He's here, finally, and Dean opens his eyes to look at his brother, see if it's really him or whatever it was that tried to be him for the past few days - hell, weeks - and... that can't be true.

Sam's there alright, but everything else is different. He's lying on a bed, a real bed, standing in what sort of looks like a motel room. He'd say it's Adele's cabin, however he may have gotten out of the tent and in there, but the whole interior doesn't look like it one bit. There's cheap paintings and even cheaper wallpaper on the walls, carpet on the floor and he'd swear there's a TV flickering in the background. Which is impossible, there's been no broadcasts for almost two years and no one would waste power rations to watch DVDs, at least not out here. It makes no sense.

With a bit of a puzzled expression, Sam watches Dean look around the room, finally gives off a "Hm?" when Dean still doesn't answer, to remind him that a question has been asked.

"Where are we?" Dean blinks, looks back and forth between Sam and the wallpaper and the TV set and did he mention none of this makes any sense?

Sam just shrugs. "Westfort, Vermont. Like for the whole last week."

"Wait, Vermont? How did we get here? When -" He's got to cough, and that's when he notices that there's no pain in his chest. Confused, he feels for his rib, applies pressure to where it broke, but still nothing. "How long was I out this time?"

"An hour or two, I think."

Dean's got no idea what to reply to that. Because the last time he came to, he was still in the tent in a camp in South Dakota, had a broken rib and pneumonia and there's no way he can be in Vermont with a _healed_ rib just two hours later. Unless... "Did Cas get his juice back? Are the angels around again?"

Sam's eyebrows go together now, and he's angling his head to the side a little, shrugs again. "I wasn't aware they've ever been gone?"

"Oh." Alright, whatever's going on here, Sam's either part of it or has no clue that something's wrong in the first place. Time to sort the facts, Dean decides. Cas angel'ing up again would explain the change of location and the healing - only not, because thinking about it he still feels pretty shitty, and why would Cas the heal the rib but not the rest? - But it doesn't explain the TV. Time travel, maybe? "What was the last thing we did before I, uh, got sick? Or, no, before we got here?"

"Dean, you know..." Sam's looking at him with something between confusion and a bitchface.

"Humor me."

"Hunting fairies in Elwood, Indiana. The whole town thought it might be aliens, but then you got abducted and -"

"It actually was a watchmaker unintentionally selling his first born to a leprechaun." Dean sits up, runs a hand over his face, and it all comes flooding back to him. Stull Cemetery, Sam's fist stopping halfway into the lethal blow, the hole, _I've got him_ , Lisa and Ben for a year, Djinns and vampires and Veritas. Crowley and Sam's missing soul and the 'hostage situation'.

He blinks, overwhelmed. "What happened?"

"You've been delirious for two days," Sam - or, what passes for Sam these days - says, not even bothering to put on the pretence of a worried expression. Matter of fact, as if he's reciting the latest stock market updates. "Do you remember anything from the hunt we came into town for?"

Does he? Dean closes his eyes, massages his temples with his fingertips, and tries to think. But he comes up empty. "No, not really."

"A witch with a preference for the local gentry. One of her victims didn't survive, which is what caught our attention, and we discovered that she poisoned several more." He sounds annoyed that he has to recap this for Dean. "She caught up with the fact that we were after her, and poisoned you too. Put hebane in your coffee."

"He-what?"

"Hebane. It's a herb, causes fever, hallucinations and delirium." Sam leans forward to put a hand on Dean's shoulder, but Dean flinches back. Getting touched by this emotionless echo of his brother is something he doesn't feel up to under the best of circumstances, and even less so when the fever vision of a completely different, broken but _whole_ Sam still clouds his mind. This Sam just shrugs and continues. "I managed to find and confront her, but couldn't make her give anything about an antidote. She said the effect would fade, that we've just gotta sit it out, and then disappeared on me. Fairy dust crap or somethin'. Fucking witches."

"Herbs, huh? What happened to a good old hex bag?" Not that Dean really cares, neither about the weeds she used, nor about the indications of what _'couldn't make her'_ might mean coming from this Sam. It's all too much, reality blending with the vision like a double-exposed photograph. He lets himself fall back down onto the pillows.

"I dunno, she's a special snowflake? Maybe witches have preferences like everyone else." He tries on a smile, but it somehow looks like a grimace to Dean.

 

***

 

It takes Dean another week to recover enough to get up and go try finishing the hunt, but the witch has used his downtime to hightail out of town. They follow a few leads, but nothing works out. She's gone.

Eventually, they move on, put the town and the dream past them. There's still a demon to find and defy to get Sam's soul back and make Dean's brother whole in reality, in the here and now.

But, if they'd found her? Dean's not sure whether he'd wanted to kill her or beg her to come out with some more hebane, put him under again; he's just so tired of fighting. He won't ever stop, not as long as there's a chance for Sam, but his dream, despite being just that, makes the reality of his soulless brother and the direness of their situation even worse. Dean's remembering everything from it in sharp, brilliant detail, how he felt, how fucking happy he was, all things considered, until reality started to bleed into it.

And no, reality's just not the place he wants to be anymore. Until Death pulls his brother's soul out of a doctor's bag and Dean's world rights itself, that is.


End file.
